


That Bitch and Her Three Exes

by nataliving



Category: Glee
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-05-21
Updated: 2014-06-21
Packaged: 2017-11-05 17:42:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 28,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/409213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nataliving/pseuds/nataliving
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>That bitch and her three exes...and the girl she really wants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is pretty much AU after 3x01 because of reasons. Sam is also the same grade as Quinn and Company for similar reasons.

It started in June.  The doorbell rang and Puck answered it to find Quinn in all her Skank glory, holding a guitar, at his doorstep.

 

“Teach me,” she said.  She was trying to demand it, but she faltered and it sounded more like a plea.

 

He hadn’t spoken to her in practically a year, although that was not for his lack of trying.  She simply had wanted nothing to do with him, or anyone from Glee for that matter.  All she ever wanted to do was smoke and screw around with that questionable girl, Mack.  It was frustrating to watch the girl he once wanted the world with fall down past any acceptable level of loserdom.  It was hard to watch her fall apart.  So he stopped trying after a while, only stopping to give her a short hug at graduation that she hardly reciprocated before quickly retreating to his car.  He didn’t want her to see the tears in his eyes because he knew deep down that a huge part of her breaking was his fault.  He only stopped when he realized that she did still graduate, so that meant that some part of the Quinn he loved was still in there somewhere.

 

So without question, Puck invited her in and began to teach her how to play guitar.  He owed her so much more than guitar lessons.

 

*

 

He thought it would take longer for her to get the hang of it, but her fingers were already calloused.  From what, Puck didn’t know and he figured he wasn’t supposed to ask.

 

They had been going over what songs he could teach her next because she had already mastered the few he used to teach her technique, when she told him.

 

“I wrote a song.”

 

She was looking at his desk, unused and littered with everyone else’s senior pictures.  Her voice was quiet, but certain.  He still had to ask.

 

“What?”

 

Still looking at the desk, focused on a wallet size picture of a girl they both knew, she repeated, “I wrote a song.”  Only this time she continued; her tone businesslike, “It’s just chords and lyrics, nothing fancy.  It would need a full band to really work.”

 

It was then that she decided to meet Puck’s gaze.  Her eyes were begging for something.

 

“Well…uh, let’s hear it, Baby-mama.”

 

Her eyes were still boring into Puck’s when she spoke.  “Like I said, I need a full band.”

 

Puck could hardly believe what she was implying, so he had to ask to make sure.

 

“Are you saying that you want to… _start_ a band?”

 

She retreated into herself for a moment; he could see it in her eyes.  But then she was back, bright and determined.

 

“Yeah, I guess.  We could probably ask Finn and Sam to play with us.  It’s as good as chance as any to get out of here, you know?”

 

She laughed quietly before adding, “We could call ourselves ‘That Bitch and Three Her Exes’ or something.”

 

Puck had to bite his tongue before saying something about the fact that she could have gotten out like a normal person.  She could have gone to a college far away.  She could have bid the ignorant town of Lima adieu.  But instead she spent her senior year smoking under the bleachers and ignoring everyone who ever cared about her.  She spent her year pointedly not saying a word to Rachel Berry, even though he knew his fellow Jew still texted her every day.  He saw the unanswered texts on Rachel’s phone and the sad look she shook off each time she tried again.  And now, during Quinn’s lessons, he saw the reaction on the other end.  Sometimes Quinn’s face was blank, and other times she grimaced, but every time her eyes flashed with something.

 

If you asked, Quinn said she was finally being herself, but Puck knew that she spent the year as the farthest thing from.

 

But Quinn was sitting in his room with a guitar in her lap, asking him to form a band with her.  He owed her a lot more than a rock band.

 

So he said, “Okay…but we are _not_ naming the band that.”

 

*

 

It was mid-July when Sam was faced with the new Determined Punk Quinn Fabray rather than the Apathetic Punk Quinn Fabray he had been trying to reach out to for the entirety of his senior year.  When he opened the door, it felt like the wind had been knocked out of him.

 

“Quinn!” he blurted out.

 

“Surprise,” Quinn greeted in monotone.

 

Sam gulped as he said, “You got that right.”  He desperately tried to search her face for any indication of what the hell was going on, but she was wearing those stupid thick sunglasses and he couldn’t see her eyes.

 

“Puck and I sort of have a proposition for you.”  Apparently, this version of Quinn did not deal with conversational pleasantries.

 

 “A proposition?” Sam drawled out.  After a moment, he exclaimed, “I knew Puck had a man crush on me!”

 

Quinn sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose.  “No.  God, why does everyone think I would be into _that_?”

 

“Then what?” Sam asked confused.  He really thought Quinn had arrived to usher in a new stage of her downward spiral: sexual deviancy.

 

“We sort of have an idea for a band and we could really use you,” Quinn said plainly.  “If you’re interested, be at Puck’s garage tomorrow at three.”

 

“Like…a rock band?”

 

“No, a rubber band.”

 

*

 

When Puck arrived at the Hummel-Hudson household he didn’t bother knocking before opening the front door and heading straight upstairs to Finn’s room.  He only paused a moment before opening the door so as to avoid walking in on anything he didn’t want to see.  Once he figured the coast was clear, he swung the door open and said, “Get up, Hudson.  We have to move your set to my house.”

 

Finn, who was practically in the fetal position on his bed when Puck entered, had now turned his head lazily to look at the other boy and dejectedly whined out, “What the hell are you doing here, Puck?”

 

Puck moved closer to the bed, giving Finn a rough shove before replying, “Getting your ass out of this house, that’s what.”

 

“Just leave me alone,” Finn said quietly, turning his back to Puck.

 

Puck exhaled heavily through his nose.  “Look, man.  I know you are all down and out because Rachel broke it off with you and everything, but she didn’t do that so you would spend the rest of your life moping in your room.  She did it so the both of you could have a decent life.”

 

Finn turned back around and sat up, meeting Puck’s eyes with a watery glare.  “She was my only hope at a decent life, Puck,” Finn sobbed.  “Without her, I’m just a Lima loser.”

 

“See, _that_ right there is why she broke up with you,” Puck exclaimed, jabbing his finger in Finn’s face.  “You are a whiny baby who doesn’t give a shit about forming his _own_ future!”

 

Finn jumped up angrily, getting in Puck’s face.  “You take that back!”

 

“No.  Because I’m right.  And you are leaving this house with me today, Finn.”

 

“And if I don’t?” Finn challenged lamely.

 

“Well,” Puck grinned, “You’ll be really missing out because all of this is Quinn’s idea.”

 

Finn’s face contorted into an expression of extreme confusion.  “What does Quinn have to do with my set?”  His face then quickly morphed into concern.  “She doesn’t want to sell it for drugs, does she?”

 

Puck only laughed as he began to disassemble the drum set in question.

 

*

 

Quinn, dressed in black jeans and gray v-neck, reluctantly lit a cigarette as she waited in front of Puck’s garage, propped up against the door with her backpack and new bass guitar leaning against her. (Blackmailing Mr. Ryerson had been a good financial move.)  She promised herself that she would quit this summer, but sometimes her nerves got the better of her.  Quinn inhaled the nicotine et. al. laced smoke, allowing it to fill her lungs completely.  As she exhaled, Quinn wondered briefly what Rachel would say.

 

_Quinn, while I understand it’s not my place, I hope you are aware of the number of far-reaching negative consequences associated with smoking.  And I am not just referring to a bad cough or fingernail discoloration._

She chuckled quietly at the fact that Rachel Berry had become the voice of her conscience so easily.  Quinn couldn’t quite remember when it happened.  Maybe it was something that had always been.  She could see Puck’s truck coming down the street.  She thanked God or Something that Finn was with him.  As Puck pulled the truck into the small driveway, Quinn took one last drag from her cigarette before she dropped it and ground it into the cement with the toe of her shoe.

 

“You got him out of his room?” Quinn asked with a slight smirk playing on her lips.

 

“Of course I did.  Did you think I was going to let you down, Baby Mama?” he replied with a grin.

 

Quinn just chuckled.  She could see Finn eyeing her nervously from the passenger side of the truck.  This was probably blowing his mind, considering Quinn and Puck had exchanged maybe fifty words all school year.  Part of her hated involving Finn in this.  It’s not like he was going to get what she was trying to do.  After all, he thought she didn’t feel anything, didn’t he?  But Quinn was goal oriented.  This was going to be her way out of Lima, and part of her felt like Finn deserved to get out too.  Besides, he was a good drummer.

 

Puck opened the garage and move things around, while Finn unloaded his set from the bed of Puck’s truck.  “Where’s Sam?” Puck asked.

 

“Sam’s coming?” Finn questioned in disbelief.

 

Quinn ignored the taller boy as she moved to begin setting up the bass amp Puck had gotten out of storage for her to use.  “He’ll be here.  I told him three and it’s only a quarter til.”

 

“Is he bringing his own amp?”

 

“Actually, I don’t think he has one anymore because…you know.”

 

Puck nodded.  “Right, well then I’ll just have to get another out of the basement.”  He ran into the house, calling “Be right back,” over his shoulder as he left.

 

After a moment, Quinn almost laughed at how awkward the atmosphere had become.  Instead, she started to tune her bass and actively ignored the nervous glances Finn was throwing her.

 

Once she had finished tuning and had begun warming up, Puck returned with another guitar amp.

 

“It’s small, but it’ll be loud enough for now.  I don’t want to get out the big guns until we know what we’re dealing with,” Puck said to no one in particular.

 

“I’m sure Sam will be fine with it.”

 

As soon as the sentence was out of her mouth, Sam’s truck pulled into the driveway.

 

“Well, speak of the devil, Sweet Cheeks,” Puck joked.  Quinn shook her head.  Finn became very interested in the placement of his cymbals.

 

Sam quickly got out the car with his guitar in hand, walking into the garage with his usual boyish smile.  “So,” he drawled, “How’s everybody’s summer going?”

 

It’s was stupid stereotypical question, and it was just so _Sam_.

 

“Personally, I think mine is about to get really interesting,” he said, grinning.  He began getting his electric guitar out its case, when he looked up sheepishly toward the others.  “I…I don’t have an amp.  If that’s a problem, I’ll—“

 

“Puck has an extra for you,” Quinn cut him off.

 

“Oh, alright, cool,” Sam said, clearly relieved.

 

“No worries, man,” Puck replied.  He then turned to Quinn.  “Alright, now that everyone is here, care to reveal your masterpiece?”

 

“What?” Sam asked, as he began to tune his guitar.

 

“Quinn, here, wrote a song,” Puck clarified.  “She said she wanted to work it up with a full band.”

 

Sam began examining the amp he was going to be using.  “So this whole year was part of perfecting a Joan Jett impression?” Sam asked jokingly. 

 

“Just trying to express myself,” Quinn replied in kind.

 

Suddenly, Finn burst up from where he was sitting on the floor near his set and bolted over to Puck.  “Just what the Hell is going on here?” he exclaimed.

 

“Dude, calm down.  What does it look like?  We are going to jam,” Puck answered.

 

“I’m not going to calm down!  This is weird!  What is Quinn doing here?  She doesn’t like any of us!”  Finn shouted, getting angrier by the minute.

 

“You’re not going to kick a chair, are you?”  Quinn asked annoyed.

 

Finn was planning on kicking his set stool, but he didn’t want to look like an idiot, so he folded his arms instead.  “Just explain what’s going on,” he said with a huff.

 

“It’s just like Puck said,” Quinn replied.  “He’s been teaching me how to play the guitar, I wrote a song, I learned bass on the side, and figured that since none of us have anything else going on, I figured we could do this together.”  Quinn paused before adding, “But if you really don’t want any part of it, you can go back in you room and mope about how Rachel finally realized she was better than you.”

 

Finn moved quickly, forcing himself into Quinn’s face.  “You take that back,” he demanded through gritted teeth.

 

“Or what?” Quinn whispered, “You’ll hit me?  Get real, Finn.”

 

Finn says nothing in reply, so Quinn continues.  “Look, the four of us have nothing now.  All I want to do is play some music.  You going to tell me, you’re not interested?”

 

Finn again says nothing as he steps back and visibly relaxes, looking slightly embarrassed.

 

“Well,” Sam began, trying to dial down the tension, “I, for one, am dying to see what Quinn’s been working on.”

 

“Yeah, all that pot and lady loving is a great way to rock,” Puck chimed in smirking.

 

Quinn fixed them both with a watered-down approximation of her usual death glare.  “Wow, guys.  I really want to share now,” Quinn said.

 

“Oh, come on.  That was all Puck,” Sam complained, “I was being serious.”

 

“Who says I wasn’t being serious?” Puck countered.

 

Quinn couldn’t believe that she willingly walked into this.  In what universe was it a good idea to start a band with her three exes?

 

“You know, what nevermind,” Quinn said, moving to pack up her bass.  “This was crazy.  I’m sorry I wasted your time.”

 

“What?  No!” Puck protested.  “I was just joking, I swear.”

 

But Quinn’s bass was already safely back in its case. She was half way to her car when someone put a hand on her shoulder. 

 

“Quinn, wait.”

 

She slowly turned around to find herself face to with Finn.

 

“What do you want?” Quinn asked tiredly.

 

For a moment, Finn seemed completely lost, like he didn’t think Quinn was going to actually stop for him, but then he spoke—proving that he was, in fact, completely lost.

 

“Uh…Rachel always wanted me to be a leader, you know?  Or, she wanted me to be her leading man, but I think they are the same thing,” he said, reaching around to scratch the back of his head, looking down at his feet.

 

“Get to the point, Finn.”

 

“The point is that I’m not a leader.  I tried, but it never worked out.  And I know I acted like a jerk back there, but I think it’s really cool that you’re trying to start something we can all be a part of, you know?” Finn explained, tentatively meeting Quinn’s gaze.

 

Quinn exhaled heavily through her nose, taking a moment before she said, “Was that supposed to be motivational?”

 

“Well…yeah?”  Finn replied.

 

“So I count you in this thing?”  Quinn clarified.

 

“Definitely,” Finn answered, taking Quinn’s bass from her.

 

She crossed her arms and looked him over.  He was just as lost as she was, and that little speech he gave her was probably the first time he felt like himself in months.  As long as he kept quiet and played the drums, this would be good for him.

 

“Alright, Finn, but let’s make a few things clear,” Quinn declared.  “The minute you kick a chair or say anything particularly rude or thoughtless, you’re out.  Got it?”

 

“Got it,” he said, nodding, looking only slightly terrified.

 

*

 

Twenty minutes later, everyone was back in Puck’s garage, with the addition of a small keyboard.  The three boys were waiting anxiously as Quinn rummaged through her backpack.  After a moment, she produced a weathered black folder.

 

“Do you still own anything that’s not black?” Sam asked.

 

“The pick guard on her bass isn’t black,” Finn countered.

 

“But the finish is.”

 

“Seriously, guys?” Quinn complained.

 

“Yeah, seriously, guys?  Her hair is pink.” Puck defended.

 

She couldn’t help it—she laughed.  It was like having an out of body experience.  Never in a million years did she think that she would be about to show song lyrics to Puck, Finn, and Sam because they would be starting a band.  It was surreal and sad and hilarious all at the same time.

 

“I really need everybody to focus, okay?”  Quinn said, grinning.

 

“Right, let’s see what you got,” Puck said.

 

Quinn began to hand out printed copies of lyrics with the chord changes.  Yeah, she told Puck that she had written a song, and she was pretty sure he had assumed that meant that she had only written one, but Quinn had been writing songs for much longer than she had been learning guitar.  She used to make up songs all the time when she was taking piano lessons, but she stopped when school and cheerleading became too much. 

 

It’s not like she had just stopped altogether either.  Quinn had always been a doodler in class, so her notebook margins had always been filled with little drawings and turns of phrase.

 

She wrote a lot when she was pregnant.  She wrote more after she wasn’t.  But in the last year, the words weren’t just rhyming or clever.  It wasn’t just venting.  She had things she wanted to say.  Things she wouldn’t be able to say out loud. 

 

Songwriting was Quinn’s medium and this band was going to be her outlet.

 

Sam was the first to comment on the material.

 

“Quinn…this is awesome.”

 

“Yeah, Baby Mamma, this looks really good,” Puck agreed.

 

When Finn didn’t say anything, Quinn turned to where he was sitting at his set to see his reaction.  His face actually looked distraught.  “Finn, what’s wrong?”

 

“Nothing is wrong, it’s just…” he trailed off.

 

“What, Finn?”  Puck coaxed, annoyed.

 

“These words are really sad,” Finn said softly.

 

Puck and Sam couldn’t say anything protest because he was right—the lyrics were sad.

 

Quinn pursed her lips in thought before walking over to the keyboard.  As she was turning it on, she said, “Think of it this way:  It’s kind of like when you start any kind of journey—and sometimes you have to leave people behind, or people leave you behind.”

 

She paused a moment as she scrolled through the keyboard’s presets looking for the one she wanted to use.  After a quick sound check, Quinn continued, “Not because anyone wants to, but because that’s what has to happen.”

 

Things were getting really heavy pretty quick, so Quinn took it upon herself to get things back on track.

 

“Alright, so it starts on a B chord,” she demonstrated by playing the chord on the keyboard, “And it’s in four, okay?  So it sounds like this.”

 

Quinn demonstrated the pattern on the keyboard, and took a deep breath before coming in when the verse was supposed to begin. 

 

“Far away.  This ship is taking me far away. Far away from the memories of the people who care if I live or die.”  Her voice was a little shaky because it had been more than a year since she had sang in front of anyone, but it was strong and clear. “Starlight. I will be chasing the starlight until the end of my life.  I don’t know if it’s worth it anymore.”

 

She could see Sam fingering the chords on his guitar and Puck was already figuring out a lead line.  Finn was bobbing his head and tapping his feet to the beat, looking like he was about to burst. 

 

“Hold you in my arms.  I just wanted to hold you in my arms. My life.  You electrify my life.  Let’s conspire to ignite all the souls that would die just to feel alive.  But I’ll never let you go if you promise not to fade away.  Never fade away.”  Quinn finished out the verse before pausing to move onto the next section.

 

“Wait,” Finn said, is this going to be a ballad or what?”

“Definitely not,” Quinn stated.

 

“Okay, so drum-wise, what do you want?”

 

Quinn smirked as she said, “I think you already have it figured out it in your head, so I don’t really care.  Just keep time.”

 

“Awesome,” Finn said with a goofy grin spread across his face.

 

“Awesome,” Quinn agreed.  “And then there’s the pre-chorus thing, which is A flat minor, E flat minor, E and B,” she said before demonstrating it like she did with the chorus.  “But I’ll never let you go if you promise not to fade away.  Never fade away.”

 

As weird as it should have been to be not only sharing, but singing what was essentially Quinn’s journal with three other people, the longer it went on, the more comfortable she felt.  She could see Finn air drumming out of the periphery, and she could feel Sam’s proud eyes on her.

 

“The chorus, I guess, is what I would call this next part.  And Puck, I’m thinking some arpeggio patterns over the actual progression?  It’s A flat minor, E flat minor, A and then E.”

 

“You got it, Baby Mamma,” Puck agreed.

 

“Our hopes and expectations.  Black holes and revelations,” Quinn sang twice before stopping.  “I could go through the whole song, but this is a good halfway point because it just repeats once and then it’s over.”  She paused, slightly nervous about the boys’ reactions.  “So…thoughts?”

 

It only took a moment, but then Sam spoke up.  “About the intro…do you just want to play the chord progression, or do you want to do something different?”

 

“I don’t really know, honestly,” Quinn said, biting her bottom lip.  “I haven’t really thought that far ahead.”

 

“Why don’t we just play through the verse together and see what happens?”  Puck suggested

 

“Sounds good to me,” Quinn agreed, picking up her bass from the guitar stand Puck had set out for her.

 

Everyone got ready to play, making sure their chord charts were in sight, and then Finn, Puck and Sam all looked towards Quinn expectantly.

 

“What?”  Quinn asked confused.

 

“It’s your party, babe,” Puck answered smirking.

 

“Oh.”

 

For the second time that day, Quinn heard Rachel Berry’s voice in her head.

 

_You’re a very pretty girl, Quinn.  But you’re a lot more than that._

She wondered briefly if being a potential front woman of a rock band was what Rachel had in mind that night.  It was doubtful.

“Alright, well,” Quinn said, biting her bottom lip.  “Finn, count us off.  Give us a measure and then we’re all in.  Got it?”

 

“Sure,” Finn replied.  “One.  Two.  One, two, three, four.”

 

*

 

“Same time, same place?” Sam asked as he hefted his guitar into his truck.

 

“Yeah,” Quinn answered. 

 

“Cool,” Sam said, climbing into his truck. “See you all tomorrow,” he called out his window as he backed out.

 

Quinn, Puck and Finn waved and Puck came up beside Quinn.  “I have to take Finn home, but stick around, would you?  It’s cool if you want to stay for dinner or whatever.”

 

Quinn grinned in spite of herself.  Puck was trying and Quinn appreciated it.  “Okay.”

 

“Cool, because I want to work out the intro with you afterwards,” Puck said heading to his truck.  Finn followed him, pausing only to turn around to say, “Bye, Quinn,” giving an awkward wave.  Of course, Quinn considered any movement Finn made to be awkward.

 

“Bye, Finn,” she replied with a small smile.

 

Fifteen minutes later, Puck had returned.  His mother had called him on his way to say that she wasn’t coming home because she got dragged into taking the graveyard shift and that his sister was staying with a friend.  When he asked what was in the house for dinner, she had replied, “God, Noah, I don’t know.  You think I can worry about that right now?” before hanging up.

 

It only took Puck five minutes to order an extra-large double bacon pizza with extra cheese.  Fuck being kosher.

 

When he pulled back into his drive way, he could see Quinn sitting on his front stoop, hastily putting out a cigarette.  It wasn’t the first time it had occurred to him that the only real difference between the Puckermans and the Fabrays was what income bracket they happened to fall into.

 

As soon as he got out of his car, he made his way to the storage refrigerator they kept in the garage and retrieved two beers.  “Beer?” he offered, as he sat down next to Quinn.

 

“Sure,” she replied, taking it from him.  It was a bottle with a twist off cap, so Puck was going to offer to open it, but Quinn had it open and was taking the first drink before he could.

 

Instead he said, “You did good today.”

 

“Thanks,” she said, keeping her eyes on the street.

 

“No problem.”

 

An easy silence fell between them while Puck watched Quinn drink her beer like she had been drinking her whole life while she watched nothing in particular.

“When are your mother and sister coming home?” she asked, still not looking at him.

 

“They’re not.  Mom called me while I was driving, so I ordered a pizza,” he supplied.

 

“Oh.”

 

Puck couldn’t figure out if Quinn was purposely not looking at him or if she was just brooding like she used to.

 

“What did you get on it?” she asked after a moment.

 

“Double bacon, extra cheese.”

 

“You are such a bad Jew,” she said finally shooting him a grin.

 

“More like a bad _ass_ Jew.”

 

“Sure thing,” she said before taking a swig of her beer.

 

Puck saw the delivery man turning the corner, so he stood up and walked to the curb to meet him.  One he paid and the delivery man had left, Puck returned to his spot next to Quinn.  Somehow they had agreed to eat outside.  It was hotter in the house anyway.

 

Two more beers and two thirds of a pizza later, Puck finally asked what he had been dying to ask since he heard Quinn sing the first line of her song.

 

“Who is it about?”

 

“I’m sorry?”  Quinn stalled.  You could take the girl out of the Fabrays, but you couldn’t take the Fabray out of the girl.

 

“Your song.  Who is it about?”  Puck clarified.

 

“Don’t you think that’s kind of a personal question?” Quinn countered quietly.

 

“Sure, but if we’re going to do this thing—and by this thing I mean try to escape Lima via Rock Stardom because I know you and you don’t do anything half-ass—then I think I should have some idea what’s making you tick,”  Puck stated resolutely.

 

“Humor me.  Who do you think it’s about?” she asked, quirking her eyebrow, looking at Puck with a slightly nervous and curious expression.

 

Puck sighed.  “It’s either Beth or Rachel, but since the song is called ‘Starlight’, I’m pretty sure it’s my fellow Jew.”

 

Quinn smiled shyly, looking slightly ashamed of herself.  “You are so much smarter than Finn.”

 

“Gee, thanks,” Puck laughed.

 

Quinn chuckled.  “Yeah, I guess that isn’t much of a compliment, huh?”

 

Puck finished off his third beer, and moved to lean against his front door.  “No, not really.”

 

“Sorry,” Quinn replied, wrapping her arms around herself.  It was late and it was starting to get kind of chilly.  Puck pulled her into his lap and held her.  They both watched the street now because it was easier than looking at each other.

 

“So,” Puck asked quietly, “what’s that all about?”

 

Quinn didn’t answer right away.  She took his hands in hers and weighed them—observed how his tan skin contrasted against her own in the same way that Rachel’s would have.

 

“I don’t really know.”

 

Puck always thought it was funny that people considered Quinn to be a good liar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: Starlight by Muse  
> About the Use of Music: For the intents and purposes of this story, if the band hasn’t been covered by Glee, then the band doesn’t exist. Therefore, all of the songs used are supposed to be seen as original work within in the story. There might be a few exceptions, but the majority of the time that’s how it’s going to work.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the songfic elements of the last chapter. I’m still trying to figure out the best way to talk about/use songs without using blocks of italicized text that you’re just going to skip over anyway.

The air conditioner was “broken”.  That’s what Judy had told Quinn the night before, just before she barricaded herself in her room with Mack.  Judy used to ask questions—“Who is your friend, Quinn?” “Will she be staying for dinner?”  “You know I love you, Quinn, right?”—but she had stopped, and Quinn couldn’t remember when or why exactly that was.  Frankly, on this night in particular, she only cared about getting Mack and herself out their clothes.

 

However, in the morning, sticky with sweat, Quinn remembered why she didn’t like it when Mack stayed the night.  She always ruined _that moment_.  That moment when Quinn was between sleep and wakefulness.  That moment when she was fully absorbed by her subconscious and could revel in her dreams.  That moment when she could actually convincer herself that Mack wasn’t the brunette sharing the bed with her.  That when she woke up—

 

But Mack had her own ideas about what mornings should be like.  Quinn could feel the brunette inch her way down to Quinn’s stomach.  She could feel what Mack thought passed as delicate kisses around her navel that were actually anything but.  When Mack made her way down to her thighs, Quinn forced herself to keep her eyes closed even though she was very much awake.  She wondered if she could pretend hard enough.  If she could trick herself into believing that the hands attempting to slowly spread her legs and the lips ghosting over her inner thigh belonged to someone else.  She wondered if she could lose herself in dreams just a little longer.

 

Not _there_ though. 

 

“Mack,” Quinn pled, feigning drowsiness, “what are you doing?”

 

The other girl lifted her head slightly from her position between Quinn’s legs to regard her.  “Waking you up, baby,” she replied, her voice thick with lust before continuing.

 

 _Baby._ Quinn wanted to vomit.

 

“How about no,” she grumbled, sitting up and drawing her legs up to her chest.

 

Even though she made a point not to look at Mack, she could see the hurt in her eyes before she looked away.  She could hear it in her voice when she said, “I just thought I would say good morning.”

 

It was almost automatic when Quinn spat out, “Well, I’m not a morning person.”

 

“We had a great night, I just—“

 

“Yeah, Mack,” Quinn huffed, “We had a great night.  That doesn’t mean anything.”

 

Mack looked affronted.  She probably didn’t know what that word meant, but Quinn thought the adjective applied.

 

“Oh, so I guess all those other nights were just nights too, huh?  They don’t mean anything either, do they?”

“Not a thing,” Quinn deadpanned, reaching to check her phone.

Mack scrambled off the bed and quickly pulling on her clothes.  “You know what,” she gritted out as she hastily buttoned her pants, “Fuck you, Fabray.  Fuck you!”

“You wish,” Quinn called after the other girl, tearing her eyes away from her phone to watch as she attempted to execute a storm out.  Quinn found it to be ineffective and subpar.  She returned to her messages.   She had two: The first was from Rachel and the second was from Puck, asking when they were practicing today.

She answered to latter with a concise, “2,” ignored the former, and headed to the ensuite bathroom to take a shower.  She needed to cleanse her skin of all things _Mack_ before having breakfast.

After scrubbing herself clean, she made a point to put on a white t-shirt and blue jeans.  The guys still gave her so much crap for wearing a million shades of gray. She sloppily pulled her hair back out her face with a black bandana Mack must have left behind some time or another, and didn’t even bother with make-up she was only going to sweat off anyway.

 _The guys._ That’s what she considered them now, Quinn realized as she rifled through her room, searching for her left green flip flop.  Yes, Finn did still clam up every time she directly addressed him about literally anything from, “You have a stain on your shirt, just so you know,” to, “Could you maybe give less bass drum during the bridge?”, but otherwise, things between the four of them were… _comfortable_ for the first time in Quinn Fabray’s life.

Once she found her flip flop, Quinn made her way downstairs to the kitchen.  It was after eleven, so the sight of Judy Fabray sitting at the kitchen table, nursing a cup of coffee, was wholly unexpected.  As much as she wanted to remain indifferent, Quinn couldn’t stop herself from jumping slightly and letting her eyes go wide in surprise.

Judy, to her credit, ignored her daughter’s reaction entirely and only hesitated a second before saying, “Quinn, I knew you had a friend stay over, so I made coffee, but it seems she left in a hurry,” sounding only slightly uncomfortable.

She was trying.  Quinn knew that her mother was trying.  So Quinn tried equally as hard not to totally blow her off.  “Yeah, she had…some place to be,” she replied quietly.

“Well, that’s a shame.  I was looking forward to finally meeting her.”

Quinn’s eyes burned as she realized that her mother was better actress than Rachel Berry.

“Thanks anyway.”

“Of course, dear,” she said, getting up and moving to the fridge.  “You know, I picked up that creamer you like, the cinnamon kind?  And I bought blueberries as well.  I could make you blueberry pancakes if you wanted.  I know they are you’re favorite, and it’s been awhile since—”

Yes, Judy was trying, but Quinn could only take so much.

“Well, actually, Mack left because I have somewhere to be too, so…” Quinn interrupted, but trailed off once she saw her mother’s shoulders droop.  “I’ll take coffee with some of that creamer to go though.  Will you get me a travel mug?”

Judy nodded and retrieved a travel mug from a kitchen cabinet. Quinn took it and filled it with both coffee and cinnamon creamer, trying desperately to keep an awkward look off her face.  “Thanks,” Quinn said, closing her mug tightly.

“You are welcome,” Judy replied, leaning into kiss Quinn’s forehead.  Except she said it like, “You _are_ welcome,” as if to beg Quinn not to leave.  Or at least, that’s how Quinn heard it.  But she couldn’t stay.  Not right now.  Probably never.

“Bye,” she said, as she grabbed her keys and aviators from the hook beside the front door.  She left before she could hear it, but that didn’t change the fact that Judy said, “I love you, Quinn,” as her daughter walked out the door.

*

“Remind me again why we are at Waffle House?”  Sam asked between bites of waffle.

“Because I wanted to take Stevie and Stacey out, and we need to kill time before practice.”

It had taken Stevie and Stacey awhile to get used to Quinn’s new look, but nothing could keep them away from a day out with the family favorite of Sam’s friends.

“Yeah, about that, I hope you know you aren’t paying for this,” Sam said, attempting to be suave.

“It kind of defeats the purpose of taking the kids out if I let you pay, don’t you think, Sam?”

“Yeah, but—”

“Shut up and eat,” Quinn said quietly, cutting him off, taking a sip from her travel mug.

“Hey, Quinn?” Sam asked, after a moment.

“Yeah?”

“White is a good color on you,” he said with a grin.

“Thanks, Sam.”

They shared a smile, and it made Quinn wish that she could erase this morning.  It made Quinn wish that she could erase last night, and every other night she ended up dragging Mack home like she was a toy.  She knew that if Sam knew what she did, he probably wouldn’t be smiling at her.  He probably wouldn’t let his little brother and sister near her.  He probably wouldn’t want to be near her.

She looked away, grimacing, and she could feel Sam’s concerned eyes on her.  She both hated and reveled in it because…at least he cared.  If the kids weren’t here, maybe Quinn would have tried to _talk_ to him about things.  Things like God and Rachel.

“Quinn?” Stacy asked, interrupting Quinn’s self-loathing.

“Yup?”

“Do you think my mom would let me dye my hair like yours?”

Quinn laughed, shooting a look to Sam who was discreetly shaking his head.

“Probably not, girly.  My mom was pretty upset when I dyed mine,” Quinn replied gently.

“You did it without permission?”  Stacey asked, absolutely flabbergasted.

“Yup, and two months of doing the dishes and being grounded was _not_ worth it,” Quinn emphasized.

It was a lie, but it’s not like Quinn could actually explain to a nine year old that having her mother’s permission didn’t particularly matter since the woman allowed her daughter to be thrown out of the house two years ago.  But judging by Stacey’s pensive face, the lie worked.  Sam mouthed “Thank you,” and Quinn winked.

When they were getting ready to leave, Sam tried to pass Quinn a ten, but Quinn took it only to slip it back into his Sam’s back pocket.  When he opened his mouth to protest, she whispered, “If you try that again, I’m just going to give the money to Stevie, so just keep it.”

Sam smiled sadly, but didn’t try it again.

*

It’s pretty normal for someone to want to be a rockstar at one point or another in his or her childhood.  However, as Sam watched Quinn explain exactly what type of guitar sound she wanted out of Puck’s arpeggio lines in her (or should he say “their”) song, he realized that this was more than living out some sort of childhood fantasy for the slightly terrifying pink haired girl he used to date.

And during their third run-through of the day, when Quinn brought everything to a halt just to let Sam know that the entrance of the keyboard part he was responsible for was late, he realized that he really didn’t have a clue what Quinn’s intentions actually were with this whole “form a band with me” thing.

He also wondered when she got so into music, but, then again, you just didn’t question some things when it came to Quinn Fabray.

They played through the song (which Quinn had titled “Starlight”, and Sam thought that was cool because it made him think of the twin suns Tatooine orbited around), and then Quinn started handing out more sheets of paper.  When she handed one to him, Sam saw that it was another song.

“Whoa, there’s more than one?”

Quinn blushed and nodded.  “Is that okay with you guys?”

“Of course it is, Baby Mama,” Puck said with a grin.

“Yeah, definitely,” Finn added.

The lyrics weren’t _sad_ , but they weren’t happy either.  As Sam skimmed further down the page, he decided that they were honest, which was really kind of a gray area as far as happy and sad were concerned.

“I don’t get it,” Finn said, after everyone had chance to look the lyrics and chords over.

“That’s not surprising,” Puck quipped.

Quinn chuckled nervously before asking, “What don’t you get?”

“Well, the title for one thing.  You called it ‘Listening to Freddie Mercury,’ but there’s nothing about Queen in here,” Finn said, scratching the back of his neck with his standard confused facial expression.

Quinn smiled slightly and said, “I was listening to Queen when I started to write it.”

“Then why not title it ‘Listening to Queen’?”

“Dude,” Sam interrupted, “who’s the lyricist here?  You or Quinn?”

“Quinn is, but—”

“Then don’t question the art,” Sam stated pointedly.

Quinn lifted a corner of her mouth in a half-smile. “Thanks, Sam.”

“No problem, Quinn,” he replied.  “But I do have one question,” he added, dragging his hand through his hair—it was getting long.  “I don’t want to, like, overstep or anything, but what’s the game plan here?  Are we doing this for kicks or…I dunno, is this serious?”

“What you mean, like, doing shows eventually?” Puck asked as he halted his efforts to tune his guitar.

“Well, yeah.  Quinn’s written all these songs and we are learning them,” Sam clarified, moving on to direct his words to Quinn.  “They’re good, we’re good, and I think you know that.”

“Well,” Quinn sighed, “That was always the plan.  I want to take this as far as we can.”

“Right on,” Puck said, nodding his head.

Suddenly sheepish, Quinn added, “You can take the girl out of the Cheerios, but you can’t take the Cheerio out of the girl.”

Sam never understood how Quinn could attribute talent to everyone else but herself.

“I guess we should start looking at venues and stuff.”

“Why would we need menus?  I thought we were starting a band, not a restaurant,” Finn asked quietly, still (constantly) confused.

“Seriously, man.  How did you graduate?”  Puck asked, returning to his guitar.

Quinn had worked out the chords on the piano when she was writing, and it quickly became apparent that Puck and Sam needed to tune down if they wanted to play comfortably.  The guys sat with rapt attention as Quinn sang through her demo.  Soon, Puck was replacing the straight chord progression in the hook with an embellished variation.

Unlike “Starlight”, this song wasn’t about crooning; it was about _saying_ something about being human.  And as Quinn explained, “This song has an edge to it.  It’s not angry, but frustrated.  At least, that’s how it is in my head,” Finn was hacking out different tom fills.

“There’s also at least three vocal parts,” Quinn added as she figured out what keyboard presets she wanted to record.

“Like a three part harmony?” Finn asked.

“Not exactly,” Quinn replied, picking up a lyric sheet.  “See the lines in brackets?” she pointed out.  “Those are…screamed.”

“You mean it’s screamo?” Sam asked, clearly excited.

“More like post-hardcore, but whatever,” Quinn answered with a chuckle.  “Yeah, like screamo.”

“Dibs!” Sam exclaimed, throwing his arms into the air.

“Dude.  Chill out,” Puck said, slapping a hand onto the other guitarist’s shoulder.

“Well, since Sam’s screaming, all that’s left is the lead line and harmony.  The harmony line does separate sometimes, but it’s mostly straight forward, so who wants those?”  Quinn asked, looking at Finn and Puck expectantly.

She was met with silence and Finn’s confused face, which was disheartening.

“Neither of you want to sing the lead line?” Quinn asked, unable to keep the disappointment out of her voice.  She thought that they liked her lyrics.

“Why would either of us do that?  You’re the frontwoman,” Puck said flatly.

“Yeah, I mean, if we’re going to do this band thing for real, we shouldn’t change it up now,” Finn agreed.

Quinn picked up her bass, and quickly checked the tuning before asking, “If that’s what you guys want, I’m okay with it, but who is going to sing harmonies?”

“Not me,” Finn said right away, “I want to focus on drumming for this song.  Maybe on something less intense, but not this one.”

Puck smiled widely as he said, “I guess it’s me and you, Baby Mamma.”

“I guess so,” Quinn concurred.

“Awesome.  We never got a chance to duet during glee club, so this should be fun.”

They did a couple more partial run-throughs before calling it a day.  Puck’s voice blended surprising well with Quinn’s, supporting the chord, but not overpowering her altogether.  Sam surprised everyone when he came in during the last run through screaming, “What about God?  What does it mean?”loud and relatively clear.  It also became apparent that quitting smoking was more than necessary if Quinn was going to continue leading the vocal charge.

Quinn could practically hear Rachel’s sweet, joking tone.  _I told you so._

*

As she put away her bass in, Quinn could feel Puck coming up behind her.  Finn and Sam had already left, citing needing to help Burt at the tire shop and return, respectively.

So it was just the two of them again.

“Double bacon with extra cheese?”

“Yeah.”

Just before Puck made the phone call, Quinn added, “This isn’t a…you know.”

Puck didn’t hesitate answering, “I know,” because he did.  This was nothing more than dinner between two people who didn’t have people waiting for them when they got home.

They ate in the garage this time.  They both sat Indian-style on the floor, each with a beer, and the pizza between them.  Quinn didn’t ask where Mrs. Puckerman or Puck’s sister were, and Puck didn’t supply the information either.

“You didn’t wear black today,” Puck said, crunching his beer can and tossing it into the trashcan across the garage.  He made the shot and pumped his fist in victory.

“Well, you guys give me so much crap about it, so made a point to change it up today,” Quinn replied, taking a bite of pizza.

Puck got up and got another beer from the refrigerator.  “You want another?”

Quinn shook her head.

“We were just joking, you know,” Puck said, sitting back down.

“I know.”

“Hell, you could were black every day for the rest of your life for all I care,” Puck said, leaning back onto his arms, “As long as you’re…you know, happy.”

Quinn arched an eyebrow as she smirked.  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

The mosquitoes were getting pretty bad, so they took the rest of the pizza inside to the kitchen.  As Puck put the plastic-wrap covered leftovers in to the fridge, Quinn noticed that there was only a half-gallon of milk and two-liter bottle of Mountain Dew in there as well.  They moved to Puck’s room.  Quinn made herself comfortable on his bed, while Puck softly picked out fractured melodies on his acoustic guitar.

They were like that for hours.  Quinn was never one to talk, but Puck worried all the same.  He played everything he knew; songs from glee, songs from the radio, songs his dad used to play.  Quinn still said nothing.

The silence was deafening.  So much so that it was physically painful for Puck to say, “Mack called me today.”

Quinn didn’t respond right away, so for a moment, Puck wondered if he hadn’t really verbalized anything and that he had just imagined it.  But just as he was about to repeat himself, Quinn said, “Oh?”

“She said that you kicked her out this morning,” he continued, his eyes glued to Quinn’s face, waiting for the explosion he was sure would come.

But it didn’t and only said, “I didn’t kick her out.  She left,” so quietly it was almost a whisper.  “How does she have your number anyway?”

Puck shrugged, “Every girl has my number.”

“Of course,” Quinn grumbled.

It wasn’t the first time Mack had called him, but it was the first time she had called while Puck was on speaking terms with Quinn.

“She sounded pretty upset, Q.”

Quinn sat up and moved to lean against the headboard.  “She’ll get over it,” she said, dragging her hand through her pink hair sloppily.  “Either that or she won’t come back, and I could care less either way.”

Puck set his guitar down back on its stand.  “What is she to you?”

Quinn kicked off her flip flops and pulled out her bandana.  She chuckled sadly, refusing to make eye contact, “A warm body.”

Life was hard for Puck.  It was no secret.  His father left, his mother worked all the time, and, by the looks of her room, it seems that his sister moved out.  He barely graduated high school.  But his relationship with Quinn was a different kind of hard.  It was different because, as he watched her now, a defeated mess on his bed, he honestly didn’t know whether to give her space or to wrap her up in his arms.

After a moment, Quinn spoke again, “Can I stay here tonight?  I just really don’t want to go home,” finally looking at him.

“Sure.”

He got up and moved to his dresser to find her a pair of gym shorts to sleep in.  They would be big, but they would be more comfortable than sleeping in jeans.  He handed them to her, and left so that she could change.  He went to the kitchen to check if they at least had coffee in the house for the morning.  They didn’t.  He would have to go out and get some before she woke up.

When he returned to his room, Quinn was sitting on the bed, with his gym shorts practically swallowing her lower half.

“I’ll be in the living room if you need anything,” Puck said, turning to leave.

“Can you stay?”  Quinn’s voice was nervous and vulnerable and Puck just wanted it to go back to normal.

“Okay.”

He shut the door so his mom wouldn’t ask questions if or when she ever came home and turned off the light.  The bedroom window still provided enough light so they could see.  He grabbed himself a pair a gym shorts, and quickly changed out his jeans.  Quinn scooted to the side of the bed, and Puck lied down next to her.  He did not hesitate to wrap his arms around her this time, and when he did, Puck could feel Quinn’s muscles relaxing.  He felt like he was taking some of that burden from her and it felt right.

“Thank you.”

“No problem.”

He could be a warm body.

When Puck woke, he was acutely aware of the feeling of Quinn burrowed into his side.  Her breathing was deep, so he knew she was still asleep.

How many times had he wished for this?  How many times had he wished to wake up next to this girl?  If they had kept Beth and gotten married, would this have been how his mornings would have been for the past two years?

Puck loved Quinn, but he also knew that, if it were up to her, she wouldn’t be waking up next to him.  He knew that they had their time.  And he knew that right now he wasn’t anything more than a warm body to Quinn.

Maybe a little more, but not much.

He gently disentangled himself from her, pulled his blankest up around her and slipped into some flip flops.  He grabbed a post-it note from his desk and left a note on his door, then went to pick up some coffee.

*

Quinn’s hand stretched out where Puck should have been.  They went to bed together, so logically he should still be next to her.  But he wasn’t.

She shot up, frantically kicking blankets off of her, and looked around the room.  He wasn’t anywhere.  He had left her.  She could feel the tears burning behind her eyes, and she couldn’t believe that she was actually going to sit in Noah Puckerman’s bed and cry when she saw the post-it on his door.

Quinn jumped from the bed, took two long strides and ripped the post-it off of the door.

_Went to get coffee because we have none._

_Call me if you want a donut or something._

She took a deep breath and sat back down on the bed.

It struck her how entirely domestic this whole thing was.  Puck had left to get her coffee because there was none in the house.  He knew that she would want some, so he left, and left a note so she wouldn’t worry.  The house was silent, so Quinn knew no had come home in the night.  She could almost pretend that one of them had forgotten to buy more coffee when grocery shopping earlier this week.  She could almost pretend that this was her life.

For what seemed like the millionth time, Quinn Fabray wished that she could be happy with such a life.

She set the post-it down on Puck’s desk, and began to make the bed out of the habit that comes from living fifteen years with Russell Fabray when she noticed her phone light up from the bedside table.  She finished smoothing out the sheets and went to her phone.  She had another text from Rachel.

Quinn couldn’t be happy with a life with Puck because it wasn’t a life with Rachel.  And Quinn couldn’t have a life with Rachel because she didn’t deserve one yet.  It was that simple and that impossible all at the same time.

She ignored the text and changed back into her jeans.  Just as she was re-fastening her belt, Puck knocked at the door.  “There’s coffee in the kitchen.”

Quinn opened the door and met Puck. “I got your note.  Thank you.”

“Of course, Baby Mamma,” Puck grinned down at her, but noticed his bed behind her.  “You didn’t have to make my bed,” he said sheepishly.

“It’s a habit,” Quinn replied with a shrug.

“Well…thanks,” he said turning to walk to the kitchen, with Quinn following behind him.

“I got you a blueberry scone too because they looked good and they didn’t have any donuts.  But you like blueberries, right?”

Quinn sat down at the kitchen table.  “I love blueberries.”  And he knew that.

“Good,” he said, getting out two plates and sitting down to join her.  He got out her scone and cinnamon roll for himself.

It was so entirely domestic, and it would have been so simple just to kiss him right then.  Just to let him love her like she knew he wanted to.

But the thought of living this life made Quinn’s stomach turn.  It was wrong for her.  So she smiled at him and took a drink of her coffee instead of kissing him, and he smiled back like he knew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song: Listening to Freddie Mercury


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow…I just read through chapters 1 and 2. I am so sorry for spelling “Baby Mamma” so many different ways. Also, this chapter was kind of a monster to write…I hope it isn’t too awkward.

Sam _was_ having a really awesome dream about beating the water temple in less than ten minutes, which resulted in him going down in history as the greatest Zelda player of all time, but then _Killer Queen_ began to invade his dream, and then he realized his phone was ringing.

“Quinn, why are you calling so early?” he answered, sleep coating his voice.

“Sam, it’s 12:30.”

“Exactly,” he yawned, “and practice isn’t until two.”

“Well, I’m about fifteen minutes from your house, so you better be ready to leave by then,” Quinn replied before disconnecting.

She was trying to be stern, but Sam could hear the grin in her voice.

*

“So why did I have to come with you grocery shopping again?”  Sam asked as he rode the grocery cart down the frozen food aisle like a scooter.

“Why?  It doesn’t look like you are having a horrible time,” Quinn replied, throwing a smirk his direction as she picked out a few frozen pizzas.

“Well, I do like hanging out with you.  Especially since you were AWOL all…”

“Sam?” Quinn questioned, turning from the frozen pizza section to see the boy farther down the aisle, standing stock still in front of the ice cream novelties.  It isn’t until Quinn drops the frozen pizza’s in the cart that Sam breaks from his trance.

“Quinncanwegeticecream?!” he blurts out, ripping his eyes from the ice cream to direct the most pleading expression he could muster.

“Sure,” Quinn answers warily, looking amused.  “Pick one out a let’s go.  I’ve got everything else.”

Sam looked _crestfallen_ as he said, “Just one?” but before Quinn could interrupt, Sam began debating with himself, “Oh, God, which one?  I love bomb pops, but they are really just Captain America popsicles.  What if I got dreamsicles?  They are classic.  Then again, so are fudge bars.  But if I really wanted to get serious here, I would get drumsticks.  But the chocolate or the standard vanilla?”

Quinn thought that his rambling would make even Rachel proud.

“Sam, get all of them. I don’t care.”

“You mean that?”

“Yes.”

Sam pulled Quinn into a fierce bear hug.  “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

“You are very welcome,” Quinn said, grinning as they pulled apart.

However, a moment later, Sam’s smile dropped only to be replaced by a look of confusion.

“Wait.  Who are we shopping for anyway?”

Quinn blanched.  She didn’t really think Sam would ask in a way that she couldn’t sidestep or redirect to something else.  To be frank, Quinn generally could get out of answering questions, but she didn’t want to lie anymore.  Not that she had been lying about Puck in particular—it never came up—but in general, she wanted to try to keep lying out of her repertoire.

“Well,” she began, stepping away from Sam and focusing on rearranging the cart to make room for the ice cream, “I’ve been staying with Puck for the last week or so.  And a few times before, too.”

“Oh,” Sam replied, looking up from the bomb pops, his smile fading, “Are you two…like— ”

“No!” Quinn exclaimed a little too quickly.  “No, we aren’t anything.” 

She glanced at Sam to gauge his reaction before continuing, “His mom works all the time, and Puck is, well, Puck, so I don’t think much grocery shopping gets done.”  Yeah, they weren’t dating, but he was, for intents and purposes, her family.

“Good.  I mean, not good that you and Puck aren’t a thing, but good that you are looking out for him.”

Quinn chuckles slightly as she said, “I know it’s weird.”

Sam gave her a gentle smile, “Yeah, but everything is kind of weird these days, isn’t it?”

She nods and together they make their way to the check-out line.  When Quinn notices Sam ogling a Snickers bar, she doesn’t even hesitate to grab one and put it on the counter.  She doesn’t miss Sam sticking it in his pocket as they bag the groceries, and only hopes that he plans to eat it on the way to Puck’s, for his jeans’ sake.

*

“Quinn?”

 

The tentative way-too-feminine-to-be-anyone-else-voice of Kurt Hummel came from the left of the grocery store parking lot as Sam and Quinn made their way back to her Volkswagon (that Sam didn’t make fun of her for it this time, probably because she bought him ice cream and candy).

“Sam?” came a second later, the tone a more accusatory than before.

Quinn knew she needed to stop and acknowledge him, but her arms were full of groceries and she really didn’t want to anyway.  Sam, of course, didn’t pick up on that.  “Here, let me take these,” he said, taking her load from her, along with her keys, and actually succeeding in holding it all because he was a guy and he could do that with his large, slightly ape-like man arms.  “You two catch up.”

She couldn’t understand for the life of her why Sam thought she would want to “catch up” with Kurt when she pointedly ignored him (along with everyone else) all year, but she didn’t get a chance to question him because by the time everything processed, Sam was nearly to her car and Kurt was five feet away and closing.

“Fancy meeting you here,” he greeted, with only the slightest amount of apprehension coloring his tone.

“Kurt, it’s the only grocery store in Lima.”

“Yes, well, last I heard, you lived off of cigarettes and beer these days.”

That earned Kurt a grin.

“Not _all_ of the rumors you hear are true, Kurt.”

“So have you returned to the civilized world?  Funny, I thought you would make a bigger splash.”

Quinn snickered.  “I figured the pink hair was enough for awhile.”

Kurt nods sagely.  “Yes, you don’t want people to think you’re compensating for something.”

He couldn’t possibly know.  Quinn knew that.  Just because he was gay—

“Well, I actually have to go.  Sam and I are meeting Finn at Puck’s house and we really can’t be late because we’re bringing the food, so I’ll see you later.”

She could hear Kurt’s protests, but she couldn’t afford to give him anymore than that because if she turned around, she might give him too much.

*

“Break time!” Sam declared immediately after they conclude the fifth run through of the now nine songs had under their belt, practically leaping to the small storage freezer Puck kept in the garage.  After a moment of what looked like frantic indecision, Sam retrieved one of the bomb pops, ripped it open and shoved it in his mouth with a content sigh.

After watching the whole scene play out, Puck eyed the other guitarist with confusion and said, “Dude, are you _sure_ you’re not gay?”

“Shut up, bomb pops are amazing.  And there is no way to _not_ look gay when sucking on a popsicle,” Sam said, only removing the popsicle for a moment.

“That’s not true,” Finn countered from across the garage, “If you’re a girl, you don’t look gay.”

“Whatever,” Puck said, placing his guitar on a stand.  “If we’re taking a break, then I have something I want to talk about.”

“Shoot,” Quinn replied taking off her bass, sitting down on the couch.

“Well, I was talking with one of the ladies I clean pools for.  She actually wanted me to bang her, but I told her that I had band practice—Hey, did you buy drumsticks?”  Puck interrupted himself, noticing Sam still rummaging in the freezer.

“Duh!” Sam exclaimed, tossing him one.

“Fucking A!” Puck said as he ripped open the cone.  “Anyway, her husband came out of nowhere and was like, ‘You have a band?’  And I was like, ‘Damn right’ And he told me that the band that was supposed to play his bar Friday backed out, so,” he paused to take a bite out of his drumstick, “He said we could have the slot if we wanted.”

Quinn stared at him a moment, waiting for him to supply the rest of the story.  When he didn’t, she asked, “What did you say?”

“I figured I would talk to you first.”

“Did he even ask what we sounded like?” Quinn asked.

“He said it didn’t matter.  I know about the band we’re replacing, and we aren’t that different.”

After a beat, Finn piped up, “I’m in.”

“Me too,” Sam said, his popsicle stick hanging out of his mouth like a cigar.

“Baby Mamma?” Puck questioned gently.

This _was_ the goal, wasn’t it?  To eventually play shows, then eventually record a record, then eventually tour the coasts, then eventually…

Quinn took a deep breath and said, “Let’s do it.”

“Sweet,” Puck said with a grin, but a second later his face fell.  “Except we don’t have a name.”

Quinn smirked, “I told you.  We can—”

“We are _not_ calling ourselves That Bitch and Her Three Exes!” Puck cut her off quickly.

“What? But I already made t-shirts!” Sam complained.

“ _What?”_ Quinn, Puck and Finn shouted in unison.

Sam visibly shrank under their collective stares.  “Well…Quinn may have mentioned it in passing…and I like to draw…and my mom’s work has a screen printer, so I just thought that I would make some up.”

“Why didn’t you say anything before?”  Quinn said smiling at him.

“I dunno.  If you want to see them, I have pictures on my phone,” he replied, fishing his phone out of his pocket and passing it to Quinn.

The picture quality was grainy, but not to the point of obscuring, “That BITCH and Her Three Exes,” clearly emblazoned across a white t-shirt, with “BITCH” in bright pink.  In the upper right corner, there was a matching pink outline of what looked to be Quinn’s hair, and in the bottom left was a smoking cigarette.

“Sam, these are amazing,” Quinn grinned, passing the phone to Puck.

“You really think so?”  Sam asked bashfully.

“Dude, how many of these have you made?”  Puck asked, tossing the phone to Finn.

“Well, I could only use extra materials from my mom’s work, so about…fifty.”

“Fifty?  Dude, that’s awesome!”  Puck bellowed, getting up to slap Sam on the back.

“Thanks…it’s just, if we really don’t want to use that name…I guess it could be more of a catchphrase.  I can just print the actual name on the back.”

“Wait,” Finn spoke from his set, and everyone turned to see him staring down at the phone with an expression that was slightly more confused than his standard face.  “Is that a whale at the bottom?”

“Finn,” Quinn sighed, “it’s a smoking cigarette.”

A moment later, Finn replied, “Oh, man, that’s awesome!” as he passed back the phone.

“Anyway, names,” Quinn refocused.

It was so strange to hear the normally noisy garage become silent.

“No one has any ideas?”  Quinn asked.

“Well,” Finn piped up, “It should be something that means something to us.  Like how New Directions was for Glee.”

“You mean it should sound like something sexual if you say it fast?” Puck joked.

“Very funny, Puck,” Quinn chastised.  “Finn does have a point.”

“What about Lost I Am?”  Sam proposed quietly.

“I am lost, but like Yoda would say it?”  Finn asked.

Sam turned to appeal to Quinn, but she just met his gaze with a quirked eyebrow.  He ran his hand through is blond hair, took a deep breath and said, “Okay, so, it’s kind of like an anagram for Lima because of the ‘I am’ part, but then instead of just using the letter ‘L’, it’s the word ‘lost’.  Plus, aren’t we all kind of lost without New Directions?  Get it?”

“No,” Finn said at the exact same time Quinn said, “Yes, that’s it,” so no one heard him anyway.

“I dunno,” Puck wondered.  “It _does_ sound a lot like Yoda.”

“I think it works.” Quinn asserted.

“So…is that our name then?  _Lost I Am_?” Finn asked.

“Yes.”

“So, we’re doing the show?” Puck asked, getting out his phone to call the owner.

“Absolutely,” Quinn replied, turning to Sam.  “I want you to print the name on the back of those shirts…in loose script font.”

“Right away, Captain, my captain!” Sam replied, saluting and moving to pack up his guitar.

Quinn then got up and walked over to Finn.

“Finn, are you free tomorrow?”

At her question, the tall boy looked terrified.  “Yeah…why?”

Quinn couldn’t help but laugh at him.  “I just want to figure out how we’re going to haul everything to the gig, and I figured that I should have you help me since you have the biggest instrument.”

“Oh…okay.  We’ll meet here then?”

“Yeah.  Puck is cleaning pools until three, so practice will be later…so let’s meet here at one?”

“Sure,” Finn said with his signature half-smile.  Quinn could not believe there was a time when she found that charming.  She turned to pack up her bass when she felt Finn grab her arm.  “Wait.”

“What?”

“Are you and Puck…you know?” he whispered.

Clearly, she needed to stop staying with Puck—or _Lost I Am_ was going to turn into _Fleetwood Mac 2.0_ before they even played a show.

*

 “Hey, so I know you just bought a bunch of groceries, but I was thinking we could get Chinese tonight?”

There was no pretense in Puck’s words.  He was comfortable.  This was becoming familiar.  He was looking forward to the time in the night when it was just them, holding each other together.  Really, he was looking forward to holding her together.

“Uh, I would, but Mack texted me.”  She didn’t.  “I said I would meet up with her.”

“Oh, yeah, no, I get it.  I’ll just, um…”

He’ll just drink until he passes out.  He’ll just punch a new hole in his bedroom wall.  He’ll just wake up in the morning alone.

“There are kosher hot dogs in the fridge and frozen pizzas in the freezer.”

“Cool.”

When she got in her car to drive away, Quinn could tell that Puck was trying to act like she hadn’t just broken his heart because there wasn’t supposed to be anything going on between them.  But for them, there would always be something going on.  She wished she could go back to not caring, but, Sam was right, things were different now.  Quinn wasn’t deluded enough to think that she was blowing Puck off for _his_ benefit, but she was being honest.  She wasn’t his girlfriend, and she never would be.

Just like she would never be—

“Quinn?”

She didn’t even remember dialing Mack’s number.

“Hey, want to have some fun tonight?”

*

It was fast and hard, and it didn’t even work because afterwards, Quinn could still hear Kurt’s words echoing over and over in her head.

Mack was like putty in her hands by the end of everything.  She fell asleep with the most disgusting look of contentment on her face.  It reminded Quinn of how Puck looked in the morning sometimes when she would wake up before him, and she wondered really what was so different between what she was doing with Mack and what she was doing with Puck.  Neither of them were Rachel, so what was the point?

Neither of them were Rachel.

Quinn headed for the guest bathroom downstairs to take a shower.  She didn’t want to wake Mack because then Mack would probably want to do the whole pillow talk thing.  When she got out, Quinn noticed the kitchen light was on.  She went to turn it off, but found her mother sitting at the kitchen counter nursing a cup of tea.

“Mom?”

“It’s okay, you know,” she said quietly.  She wasn’t looking at Quinn, but out the kitchen window.

“What are you talking about?”  Quinn moved slowly to sit next to her mother.

“Whatever _it_ is, it’s okay,” Judy replied, turning to meet Quinn’s gaze.  “I know some of this is real—the guitar playing, the singing, the band you’ve formed with those boys.  But some of it is a front because that’s what Fabrays do—they put up fronts.”

Quinn stared at her hands.  At first, she wanted to come back with something mean like, “Oh, so standing by while your deranged husband kicked out your pregnant sixteen year old daughter was part of a front?”, but right here, right now, her mom was trying to be _her mom_ , and Quinn knew that.

“I don’t know what you are using that girl for, but regardless I don’t think it’s fair.”

“No, it’s not,” Quinn agreed.

“Then stop,” she said earnestly, taking her hands.  They felt warm and sure, not tentative and shaky like when she was younger.  For the first time in what felt like her whole life, Quinn was sure that her mother was right in front of her. 

“I’m going to sleep in the living room.  Is that okay?”

“Of course,” Judy replied.  “I’ll get you a blanket.”

Quinn headed for the couch, and a moment later Judy arrived with an old afghan quilt her grandmother had made.  She draped it over Quinn and said, “If you want to leave before she gets up, I’ll make sure she leaves.”

“Okay,” seemed like a better response than ‘thanks’.

*

When she met with Finn, it was awkward.  However, they did figure out exactly how they were going to get all of the equipment they needed to the show.  Luckily, everyone except Quinn drove a pick-up truck, and Finn even had a camper shell.  It was decided that the guitars, pedals, keyboard, and whatever amps would go in Puck’s truck, while Finn’s set, the t-shirts, and whatever was left would go in Finn’s.  Finn even went so far as to bring a tape measure so they could be sure that everything would fit.

And yet, when Friday rolled around, fifteen minutes before they were supposed to leave, Finn realized that he didn’t take his cymbals into account, so Quinn ended up riding with Puck with them in her lap.

“You nervous?”  Puck asked as they pulled into the venue.

“Not exactly.  Just different.”

“Like how?”

“Like I keep expecting Mr. Schue to be there to give us a pep talk before we go on,” Quinn replied with a smirk.

Puck laughed and said, “Don’t worry, I bet Finn will try to.”

And he did.  Five minutes before they were supposed to hit the stage, he motioned for everyone to huddle up.

“Okay, guys, we been working really hard these past few weeks and it’s time—”

“Finn, stop.  This is a gig, not Glee,” Quinn cut him off, “Let’s see if the audience likes us before we start talking about hard work paying off.”

He didn’t have time for a comeback because a waitress who had been leering at Puck all night told them it was time to go on.

The setlist had been a bit of an issue.  They only had nine songs prepared, and Quinn wanted to play them in order of oldest to newest because then the front end of the set would be solid.  But Puck and Sam both wanted to structure the set theatrically.  In the end, under the bright lights of a much smaller stage than any of them were familiar with, they were opening with a song they had only been practicing for a week.

Quinn had just adjusted her mic when Puck began playing the opening riff, distorted and delayed.  Sam echoed and overlapped him, and then Quinn and Finn came in together as Sam and Puck broke apart into a triplet rhythm.  In a blur, Quinn realized she had sang through the first verse, and was already onto the chorus, “I don't want to see the day, my words cannot make it safe. Her heart in my hands, it’s too bad, no regrets.  I don’t want to see the day her tears are falling on my grave.  This is my one chance to take back, no regrets.  Sam overlapped her with his screaming backing vocals, “Come running home, come running home!” Time seemed to jump again, and they were at the bridge.  Quinn risked a look out into the crowd even though she could barely see anything because of the lights.

And she was surprised:  The crowd was into them.  Or at least, they seemed to be.

When they finished the song with a final repeat of the chorus, Quinn realized that she hadn’t introduced them yet.  As Sam and Puck quickly switched over their effects for the next number, she took hold of her mic.

Just before she spoke, she heard Rachel’s voice in her head for the first time in weeks.  _Be engaging, Quinn.  No one likes a pretentious frontwoman._ And if had been in any position to laugh at the voices in her head, she would have.

“How’s everybody doing tonight?”  Quinn called out brightly. 

The crowd raved.

“So, we weren’t horrible then?”

Quinn was met with a resounding and collective “NO!”

“Awesome.  Well, we’re Lost I Am, and this song is called Sister Rosetta,” she responded as she began the opening bass line.

It was a whirlwind and before they knew it, they had plowed through half of their set.  Sam’s hair was plastered to his face with sweat and Finn had taken off his button down and was using it as a sweat rag.  Puck was guzzling down a bottle of water as he threw her a quick thumbs up.

“I know this is a bar, but is there anyone from McKinley out there?”

Quinn expected a holler or two.  Instead she heard, “Hell to the yeah!”, “What do you think?”, and “Your hair looks pretty under the lights!” _along with_ a holler or two.  Clearly, Mercedes, Santana, and Brittany were in the audience.  Quinn quickly covered the mic and turned to Puck.

“Did you invite them?”

Puck threw up his arms in a defensive position.  “Don’t look at me.  Sam’s the one who makes out with Mercedes.”

She turned to glare at Sam, but he only grinned at her and said, “There _all_ out there.”

Quinn blanched, but there was Rachel’s voice again.  Only this time there was a small chance it wasn’t just coming from her head.  _The show must go on!_   __

“Okay, so we are going to kind of take it down a notch.  It’s not exactly a slow song, but…it’s just more mellow.  At least in the beginning.”

Quinn began to switch her pedal board around, but suddenly grabbed the mic and addressed the crowd again.

“Oh, and it’s not my birthday.  Those are just the lyrics.”

Finn counted them off, and they were playing again. 

“It is my birthday.  It is a new year…”

Playing a show in front of people who didn’t know them from Adam.  At least that’s what Quinn thought, but apparently everyone she ever cared about was also in the audience. 

“I’ve got all my friends here.  We haven’t been talking as of lately.  They’ve all found new bros and babies.”

Rachel was in the audience.  Probably appraising every aspect of this performance.

“I have smoked away my pride.  I have smoked away my pride.  There’s nothing but the cinders of it inside!” Quinn screamed, ripping into her bass line.  She could only pray that Rachel was _listening_.

“But I believed in more than nothingness last year, and under every quiet failure it’s still here.  Buried, breathing under eighteen years of tragedy and fear.”

She could feel it as Puck ripped into his solo.  She could feel it as Finn pounded on his cymbals.  She could feel it as Sam jumped across the stage, slamming out his rhythm part.  As she looked out into the crowd, seeing everyone in the room _enjoying_ themselves, she knew that this was where she was supposed to be.  And as the song ended, and the crowd cheered again, in that moment, it didn’t matter who was in the audience.

Everything blurred together after that.  It wasn’t like performing for Glee, which was always so fast and frantic that Quinn felt like if she blinked she would miss it.  The night felt endless.  As long as there was a crowd and a stage, they were going to keep playing, and nothing else mattered.  But all too quickly, Puck was flagging her down, and whispering “Don’t forget to mention the t-shirts” in her ear before they began the last song.

“Wow, this has been a blast, you guys.  I’m sad to say that we only have one more song.”

She was met with another “NO!”

“I know, I know, but we’ll be back, I’m sure.  In the meantime, Sam here made these really cool band tees, and one of them can be yours for the small amount of seven dollars.  You can get them at the bar.”  Quinn explained pointing to the bar.  “We’re _Lost I Am_ , and until next time, friends.”

As soon as the world “friends” was out of her mouth, Finn kicked them off, and Puck began his lead line for the intro.  Sam and Quinn came with their rhythm lines, beginning the final song of the night.  It was over way too soon, and before Quinn realized what was happening, she was singing the final line, “And I know you can’t help this feeling I get when you say you understand, and I know you can’t.”

*

Quinn blinked and she was offstage.  Sam and Finn were jumping around like idiots and Puck was pulling her into a hug, saying, “I knew we could do it, Baby Mamma” into her neck.  A minute later and the entire (former) Glee club was back stage with her.  Brittany was gushing about her hair and Santana was saying that the set was “pretty chill”.  Quinn could see Rachel in her periphery, but it didn’t connect in her brain. 

And suddenly, Mack was there, pulling her into a kiss.

In front of Rachel.

“Wow, baby, that was amazing!  I didn’t know you were so talented!” she said in a nauseatingly sweet tone, kissing her again on the cheek.  Then she pulled her in closer, “How about we get out of here, so you can rock my world?”

“No,” was out of Quinn’s mouth before she realized she actually said it out loud.

“What?”

“No, Mack,” Quinn repeated, pushing the other girl away.

“Babe, don’t be like this.  Not now,” Mack pleaded, grabbing Quinn’s hand.

“I’m not your babe,” Quinn said firmly, pulling her hand away.

“Wait—” Mack began, but Puck intervened.

“Mack, she’s serious.”

She backed away from Puck, taking a moment to glare at Quinn before she cried, “Whatever, Quinn.  Fuck you,” as she stalked out of the bar.

Puck turned to Quinn, and immediately she rested her head on his chest.  “Let’s get out of here,” she mumbled, eyes closed.

“Don’t you want to say hi to everyone?” he asked.

“I didn’t talk to them for the last year, why would I want to start now?”

“Okay.”

A few minutes later, Puck was able to lead Quinn to his truck with their gear under the pretense of “Quinn’s not feeling too good”.

Quinn had met Rachel’s gaze only once, and it was after Mack had pulled her into that kiss.  So really, Puck’s excuse of “Quinn’s not feeling too good,” wasn’t an excuse at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs Used:   
> (A lot this time!)  
> F.C.P.R.E.M.I.X. by The Fall of Troy  
> Sister Rosetta (Capture the Spirit) by The Noisettes  
> Try To Remember Forget by Say Anything  
> Dyed in the Wool by Circa Survive


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, hey. It seems like you all liked the last update which is freaking awesome because I was worried about writing a chapter about a concert. This chapter is a little different. Also, sorry for taking so long!

She never left.

After the show, Puck tried to take Quinn to her house, but she wouldn’t let him.  So they went home.  Aside from a couple of trips to pick up some clothes and a toothbrush, Quinn began to stay with Puck full time.  Judy didn’t say anything, but Puck knew she probably wanted to say a lot.

They played three more shows in the space of two weeks because summer was ending—or at least, that’s what Quinn said.  Rachel, Mercedes, Santana, and Brittany came to all three.  Kurt and Blaine came to the first two, but had to miss the last one in July in favor of apartment hunting.  Tina, Mike, and Artie were never seen anywhere together because, apparently, the Asian Fusion wasn’t _that_ perfect, so shit was uncomfortable.

Rachel called Puck the day after the first show.

“Is she feeling better?”

“Yeah.”

“You were all amazing, you know.”

“Wow, that means a lot coming from _the_ Rachel Berry.”

“Noah, I’m not _that_ hard to impress.”

(Quinn must have been rubbing off on him because he could never keep things light these days.)

“She didn’t want Mack there.”

“I know.”

“And I don’t know why she isn’t talking, but it’s Quinn, so when did she ever really talk anyway?”

“It’s okay.  Just tell me when your next show is and I’ll be sure to be there.  Although, I’ll probably elect not to come back stage afterwards, if it’s all the same to you.”

“Sure thing, Rach.”

“Goodbye, Noah.”

He hung up right when Quinn walked into the room.  So she heard everything.

Two days after the third show, Santana and Brittany left for Louisville.  A few days after that, Mercedes left for Belmont.  A week later, Tina left for Northwestern and, Artie and Mike awkwardly headed for Columbia College Chicago.

The following weekend, Lost I Am put on their final show of the summer.  Kurt and Blaine were right in front of the stage while Rachel watched by the bar.  Quinn was in top form.

*

 _Loyal readers of the Dayton Contemporary, you all know me to be somewhat of a local music connoisseur.  I can list all the decent active bands within a 50 mile radius--along with the bands that have been active within the last fifteen years.  Point being:  The Ohio music scene is_ kind of my thing.  _Some may call me a hipster--or whatever the appropriate term is for it these days--but it is what it is.  So everyone and their mother kept telling me to check out some garage band seemingly  in it’s infancy, hailing from the cultural wasteland that is Lima, Ohio, I was speculative to say the very least._

 _Nevertheless, in order to preserve my credibility, I decided to give the new alternative-punk outfit,_ Lost I Am, _a few of my hard earn dollars to see what the big hoopla was all about.  Spolier alert: Hoopla is definitely warranted._

 _LIA made their way to Dayton to stage their end of summer show at McGuffy’s House of Rock.  Truth be told, I was surprised to see them on the roster for this month, but if they were good enough for McGuffy’s, then I figured they would be good enough for me.  LIA was the final act of what was essentially a local amateur night, the order of which was decided via a poll on McGuffy’s Facebook page.  So clearly they weren’t_ just _the hottest garage act in Lima.  Before the show began, it was easy to see who the crowd was really here to see--with at least two thirds of the crowd sporting shirts emblazoned with the band’s self-declared catchphrase,_ that bitch and her three exes.

_Apparently, Quinn Fabray has made a reputation for herself.  Then again, if all the other band members dated her at one time, but are now completely fine with making music with her, she can’t be all that bad. Heck, I’ll admit it--I’ve become quite smitten myself since seeing this show._

_Of course that may or may not be slightly awkward since the since all of members are barely out of highschool each having graduating this past May from Lima school, William McKinley Senior High.  That’s right - they are_ that _young.  Being the professional journalist that I am, I deced to do some research before the show.  Apparently, McKinley High is known for two things:  Internationally known (and somewhat psychotic) cheerleading coach, Sue Sylvester and the crazy talented start-up glee club, New Directions.  Seriously, next time you are wasting some life in front of a computer, YouTube the Cheerios’s national’s routine from 2009 or New Directions’ nationals performance from 2010, and prepare to feel inadequate._

_Interestingly, LIA front woman, Quinn Fabray, captained the Cheerios from 2007 to 2009 (yes, beginning as a freshman) and is a ND alum, and fellow bandmates Sam Evans, Finn Hudson, and Noah Puckerman are all ND alums as well._

_I don’t know what’s in the water in Lima, but they should bottle and sell that stuff._

_Anyway._

_Ever the skeptic, I prepared myself for a night of relatively talented kids playing Rock Star.  I mean, we’ve all been there right?  We’ve all been to that show with that local group of kids who, sure, sounded okay, but let’s be honest: they were still just kids trying to be rock stars.  Yeah, their guitar solos are smooth, their drummer can stay in time, and they can jump around and play their instruments at the same time, but you still can bring yourself to buy what they are selling._

_Maybe it’s because they are super-talented Teenage Mutant Lima Children, but_ Lost I Am _is not that band._

 _They hit the stage promptly at 9p.m. to a roaring crowd (myself included after listening to the previous four strictly garage acts that came before them).  After a quick sound check and hello from Miss Fabray,they jumped right into their first number._ _I immediately felt out of place since everyone in the room seemed to know the words but me. I also felt like an ass, because it was a damn good song.  All twelve songs they played were good--from the goading-you-in-a-good-way show starter_ Someday _and the down-and-dirty,_ Daddy’s Little Peach, _to the honest-and-heartbreaking,_ Transylvanian, _to the fun-but-raw finale,_ I Wanna Be Free.  _Full disclosure:  I just about cried during_ Transylvanian _, which has quickly become one of my favorites in  the small but obviously still growing LIA catalogue.  If you go to the group’s facebook page, the entire wall is song requests--of their original songs.  These guys never play covers.  If these guys don’t release an EP soon, I fear that the Ohio Youth will riot in the streets._

_Or maybe that will just be me._

_Their sound is fresh, they are engaging, and they know what they are doing.  This is_ not _the over-hyped high school garage band I thought it would be.  This is everything I love about music and more.  These kids have somehow learned how to harness that stereotypical teen angst that seems to limit most young bands’ ability to express into something universal and personal at the same time.  I don’t know much about how high schools are run, but I know that I would like to take a look at McKinley’s curriculum._

_Of course, there are some things that just cannot be taught.  Fabray’s stage presence, for example, was practically mesmerizing.  I had to actually remind myself that there was a full band behind her.  Puckerman’s ability to harmonize vocally seemed inherent.  Not to mention, his lead lines were flawless.  Evans’ rhythm guitar was spot on and his screams were chill-inducing in the best way possible.  Also, I am pretty darn sure that Hudson is related to the Energizer Bunny because otherwise I have no idea where he could possibly get all his energy from.  He just keeps going and going and going..._

_Okay, this review has officially lost all objectivity.  You guys, I love this band--and I’ve only seen them once, but I plan on seeing them again as soon as possible._

_Bottomline:  See LIA now while tickets are still under ten dollars.  They won’t stay that way for long._

_Jensen Hayes - Entertainment reporter for the Dayton Contemporary_

*

“Quinn?”

It almost October now.  Their room was cold because they had left the window open, but the bed was warm. The sun was up, so he knew that she had been awake for at least two hours.  Except for her first night here months ago, Quinn rarely slept past dawn.  Instead, she would lie awake, burrowed into Puck’s back.

“Quinn,” he said a little louder.

She stirred and turned to face the opposite direction.  Puck moved to lie on his back, and when he did, his shoulders poked out from under the comforter.  A quick shiver ran through him before he continued.

“Don’t you ever go to Church anymore?”

“I don’t see why I should,” she answered without looking at him.

“So you can, I dunno, pray or something?”

Quinn moved to lie on her back, sighing heavily as she countered, “I pray all the time, Puck.”

Puck looked her over as he asked, “What about?”

“You’re not that stupid.”

“Besides her.”

“It’s too early for this.”

“You’ve been awake longer than me.”

Quinn’s phone flashed on her bedside table.  She swiftly grabbed and unlocked the phone, taking a second to read the text message before flinging it roughly back to its place.  She dragged both of her hands through her bedhead, slowly sliding them back down to rub her eyes.  Puck was content to watch her as he waited for her to give him something— _anything_.

She then abruptly slammed her hands down to the bed to lay at her sides, glanced at her phone, and then stared at the fan blades spinning above them as she said, “I pray that this works,” in a strangled and tired voice.

“I pray that this gets us out.  That these first twenty shows haven’t been a fluke.  That people outside of this town might actually like us.  That I’m not just going down in flames and dragging you all down with me.”

But Puck knew that wasn’t everything because Quinn kept glancing at her phone.

“We talk on Facebook, you know.  Rachel and me,” Puck said gently.  “She asks about you—well, you and Sam and Finn because she’s polite like that, but mostly you.”

Quinn folded her hands nervously onto her stomach, and Puck continued.

“All year, she kept trying to get all of us to think of different ways to get you back into Glee.  She even tried to convince Mr. Schue to let us stage a fire drill so we could perform that Paramore song—Born For This, I think—in the courtyard.  Kurt had to talk her down from doing Rebel Girl by Bikini Kill, but the Paramore song was cool.  She figured that you would see us and then ‘come back to Glee’.  Schue nixed the fire drill, but he did let us flash mob everyone at lunch one day.” He chuckled, “He also let us skip the next period so we could all take showers and change.  It was Taco Grande day.”

 “I was—”

“Not there.  Yeah.”

“I was going to say that I was in the science lab.  I still heard her though,” Quinn countered defensively.

“So her plan didn’t work then, did it?”

“Guess not.”

They sat in silence for a moment, both watching the ceiling fan spin above them.  Puck was on the edge of something--he just didn’t know if he was about to fall out or stumble into whatever that something was.

“All of you deserve to get out,” Quinn said quietly.  “I don’t understand why the three of you aren’t playing football somewhere--even if it is OSU. I can’t understand why, after everything we’ve learned, you three would be content just to...stagnate here.”

Puck turned to look Quinn as he said, “Isn’t that a _little_ hypocritical?”

“Depends on who you ask,” Quinn replied, still not looking at Puck.

Puck propped himself up on his elbow so Quinn could no longer avoid looking at him.  “I’m asking _you_.”

Quinn didn’t answer right away.  She sat up, scooted back so that she was leaning against the wall, and pulled her knees up to her chest.

“Why would I deserve to get out of Lima?  Domestic life is all I’ve ever wanted.  You can ask anyone,” she said, raising one eyebrow, daring him to contradict her.

Fine; Puck would play.

“Then why would you go through all this trouble to make sure the rest of us get out?  What makes us so different from you?”

“Well, that depends on who you ask,” Quinn countered coyly.

“I’m asking _you,_ Quinn.”

“Isn’t obvious?” Quinn said quietly.  “All I have ever wanted is the definition of domesticity. Prom queen, quarterback, sorority, marriage, real estate, and approximately 2.5 children.  Most people would agree, don’t you?”

“No,” Puck said defiantly.  “I bet that the only person who does is Finn because this whole ‘rocker chick’ thing is really freaking him out.”  Then, after a moment, he added, “And I bet Rachel doesn’t agree either.”

Quinn didn’t respond as she grabbed her phone and stormed out of the bedroom.

*

“Finn.”

“Mhmmno.”

“Finn, get up.”

“Muh.”

“FINN, GET UP.”

“Okay-Oka--QUINN?”  Finn shouted, sitting straight up.  “What the--” he paused mid explicative to cover himself once he realized he was still only in his boxers--“Hell? My mom let you in?”

“No, Kurt let me in,” Quinn stated, folding her arms and leveling Finn with a glare.

“What are you even doing here?” Finn asked, pouting.

“Oh, you know, I was just in the neighborhood, and I thought I would stop by,” Quinn replied in monotone.

“Cut the crap, Quinn,” Finn spat.

“Fine,” Quinn said, pulling out Finn’s rarely used desk chair.  “Why did you do it, Finn?” Quinn asked, crossing her legs as she sat.

“Uh...why did I do what?”

“I mean, it was sloppy cursive written on cocktail napkins folded in a memo pad that had been crumbled up and thrown in a corner,” Quinn continued, dragging her hands down her face.

“What are talking about?  Are you pregnant again?  Because you are acting really weird.”

“No, I am not pregnant, Finn.  I am furious.  There _is_ a difference.”

“I don’t know why.” Finn replied.

“Because _you_ didn’t write that song-- _I_ did!” Quinn exclaimed, exasperated.

“Uh, duh, of course you wrote the songs.  We all agreed that you would.  Why are you getting mad at me because I didn’t?  I just play the drums!” Finn exclaimed.

Quinn balled her hands into fists.  “God, Finn, I’m talking about Nationals.”

“We didn’t write original songs for Nationals this year!” Finn countered, yelling again.

“Then it should be obvious that I am talking about LAST YEAR!” Quinn stated in a crescendo to match Finn.

Finn had his mouth open to utter some sort of ill-thought retort when it seemed to dawn on him what Quinn was actually saying.  His brown scrunched up and his eyes unfocused for a moment before he said, “Wait, what?”

“Last year.  In New York,” Quinn said, taking a shaky breath.  “Somehow, you managed to write and arrange a wonderful duet for you and Rachel with only having about four hours to work with her.  It was amazing.  Miraculous, even--Except you didn’t write it at all.”

“How did you--?”

“Because I wrote it, Finn.  I wrote the lyrics on napkins with a horrible pen I borrowed from bartender, and I arranged it on piano in the lobby.  I wrote the melody line on a half used memo pad someone had left at the bar.  All while you were on your little ‘work date’ with Rachel.  It was late, so I headed up to the room to change into my pajamas.  I went to the guys’ room because I planned on convincing Puck or Sam to act like they wrote it with me, but when I got there...” Quinn trailed off, taking another unsteady breath before continuing.  “When I got there, I guess you had just gotten back because Puck was asking you how it went, and--I dunno--I turned around.  And then Rachel was there.  All smiles with Tina asking her about the stupid date.  I just got so mad that I crumbled the whole thing up and threw it into the trash.  I missed, but I was too mad to care.  Of course, when we met up again in the morning for a cram session--”

“I found it,” Finn interrupted.

“You found it,” Quinn confirmed.

“I thought Rachel had wrote it at first, but then when I started working with her, she didn’t know any of the words,” Finn confessed. “Then I thought that maybe Santana had written it for Brittany, but then she didn’t attack me when we started to practice as a group, so then I just figured it was like...Grilled Cheesus, you know?”  Finn explained.

“Finn, please tell me you don’t still pray to a sandwich.”

“No!  But like, the principle of the thing, okay?”

Quinn scowled as she said, “So you thought God simply put that song there for you to find, so you could sing it to the girl you liked?  Come on, Finn.”

“I didn’t know how else to explain it!  Why would someone write a whole song on napkins and just leave it there? Why did _you_ just leave it there?”  Finn asked.  “Why didn’t you say something?”

“Like any of you would have believed me,” Quinn replied.

“Well, like, who were you even writing about?  Puck?” Finn  asked, scratching the back of his head in confusion.  “Because he tried to ask you out and you shot him down a lot.”

“I didn’t write it about Puck.”

“Sam, then?  Because I’m kind of the reason you guys broke up, so that makes sense.”

Quinn rolled her eyes as she said, “Thank you for acknowledging some fault in that, but no. I didn’t write it about Sam either.  Really, it doesn’t matter who it was about.  What matters is that Rachel thinks _you_ wrote it about her, and that _really_ pisses me off.”

Finn shook his head.  Quinn took a moment to collect herself. “It’s just that I know that thinking that you wrote a song about her made losing Nationals worth it for her, and I hate that it’s not true.”

“Since when have you cared about Rachel?”  Finn asked.

“Probably longer than you have, by the looks of it.” Quinn replied quietly.

“What?”

“Nevermind.  You’re right, I don’t care about Rachel.”

“I didn’t mean--Look, Quinn, I’m sorry I stole your song and sang it to Rachel or whatever, okay?  That probably really sucked, and I’m sorry.  If I had known you had written the song, then I wouldn’t have used it without okaying it with you first.  Sorry,”  Finn said tiredly, but he still was sincere.

Quinn stood up and pushed Finn’s chair back under his desk.  “Okay,” she said, nodding, looking around the room.

“Is that all you wanted to talk about?”  Finn asked tentatively.

“Not even close,” Quinn said, turning to the door.  “But I really don’t want to be here anymore so--”

“Quinn, stop.”

She turned to look at him, and Finn got up to face her.  “Things haven’t always been good between us.  Really, we’ve had more rough times than good times, but I want to work through all of that with you.  Especially if we are going to be rockstars together, you know?” 

Quinn couldn’t help but grin and Finn gave her his signature dopey half-smile in return.

“So...can we start over and try to be friends?  Like, real ones?”

Quinn considered his request for a moment before responding, “Maybe,” and hitting him lightly on the chest.  “Go put some clothes on.  I’ll see you at Puck’s at four.”

*

_September 5th, 2011_

**Rachel:** Quinn, while our meeting under the bleachers was not ideal, I do hope you consider what I said.  I meant it - whenever you’re ready. ****

_September 6th, 2011_

**Rachel:**   I hope to see you at glee after school today! ****

_September 7th, 2011_

**Rachel:**  I missed you in glee yesterday, Quinn.  I know I said you were pitchy before, but really, you have a very lovely voice, and considering Mr Schue is now allowing *tone deaf* individuals into glee, we - no - I would really love to hear you sing again. :) ****

_September 12th, 2011_

**Rachel:**  (1/2)I know we haven’t always been the best of friends, but everyone really misses seeing you in glee.  Santana won’t admit it, but she misses you.  Of course, this means that she’s been a lot more abrasive lately.  Consequently, Brittany has been moping since school has started.  However, they aren’t the on ****

 **Rachel:**   (2/2)ly ones.  Sam has halted all impressions, Kurt keeps saying that there is no one left who understands fashion, and Puck seems to have lost some of his bravado.  And, of course, I miss you - if that isn’t already obvious.  Just be sure to transfer into glee before the week ends, okay? ****

_September 16th, 2011_

**Rachel:**   Today is the last day you can change your schedule for the semester!  Be sure to stop by the office to switch into glee.  Otherwise, you’ll miss out on class credit for this semester.  However, I already talked to Mr. Schue and he said you could still perform with us if you attended all the after school rehearsals in the event you could not switch into the class!  Hope to see you Monday! ****

_September 21st, 2011_

**Rachel:**   May I ask why? ****

_September 26th, 2011_

**Rachel:** I don’t know how Coach Sylvester got you to agree to be part of that ridiculous video, but if it was any sort of blackmail, you may like to know that my daddy is a lawyer. ****

_September 27th, 2011_

**Rachel:**   Not that I expect any sort of response, but McKinley is actually putting on a musical this year - West Side Story.  It’s the musical where half of our mash-up duet came from.  I don’t know why I’m telling you. ****

 **Rachel:**   I suppose I hoped you might be interested in auditioning. ****

_September 28th, 2011_

**Rachel:**  Again, I don’t want to be annoying, but please, please stop smoking.  It is absolutely horrible for you. ****

 **Rachel:** Although, it may give your voice a somewhat desirable raw quality.  Santana, for example, claims to smoke cigars to shape her voice. ****

 **Rachel:** Personally, I think the increased cancer risk and health concern overshadow any sort of positive benefit. ****

_September 29th, 2011_

**Rachel:** I talked to Ms. Pilsbury this afternoon, and she that because she and Coach Beiste are already familiar with your vocal range, you would only be expected to do a cold read during auditions.  If you’re interested, that is. ****

_September 30th, 2011_

**Rachel:** Auditions are today after school.  I really hope to see you there.  Santana does too (even if she won’t admit it). ****

_October 3rd, 2011_

**Rachel:**   Perhaps you could provide me with some insight.  Why is it that *I* am considered to be the diva of our group, when Mercedes is the one who takes everything so personally? ****

 **Rachel:** Although, I suppose it’s my group rather than our group now, isn’t it? ****

_October 4th, 2011_

**Rachel:**  I know I am in no position to ask any favors of you, but could you perhaps talk to Mercedes?  Contrary to popular belief, I’d rather not resort to a diva off. ****

_October 5th, 2011_

**Rachel:** Is this how you felt when you were reinstated as captain of the Cheerios and Santana was put at the bottom of the pyramid? ****

 **Rachel:**  I’m sorry, that was out of line. ****

 **Rachel:** I am just tired of everyone hating me for doing well. ****

_October 6th, 2011_

**Rachel:** Vote Kurt Hummel for Senior Class President! ****

_October 7th, 2011_

**Rachel:** Really, Quinn.  It is too chilly to be wearing shorts and fishnet stockings.  I don’t care how “badass” they make you look. ****

 **Rachel:** Yes, I can admit that you do look have a sort of dangerous allure about you. ****

_October 8th, 2011_

**Rachel:** I know I don’t usually bother you on the weekends, but I was just talking with Noah about perhaps throwing you a surprise birthday party.  Then he informed me that your birthday is in August!  Imagine my surprise at realizing that I had allowed your birthday to pass without mention!  Happy Belated Birthday, Quinn Fabray! :) :) :) ****

_October 10th, 2011_

**Rachel:** I know it sounds silly, but sometimes I forget we don’t actually talk. ****

..

_May 30th, 2012_

**Rachel:** I just thought I would let you know that I am officially ending things with Finn today. ****

 **Rachel:** Knowing the way he usually rationalizes things, he may try to blame/confront you.  If he does, I am sorry. ****

 **Rachel:** I am also sorry if he attempts to ask you out....lol (It may not be appropriate, but I couldn’t help it!) ****

..

_June 12th, 2012_

**Rachel:** Don’t get upset with Noah, but he told me that you asked him for guitar lessons.  And I, for one, really think that’s great. ****

..

_July 17th, 2012_

**Rachel:** Noah just informed me that you’ve decided to take your guitar playing to the next level.  That is to say, you’re forming a band? ****

 **Rachel:** I knew you couldn’t stay away. :) ****

..

*

Rachel’s text blinked at Quinn as she slid her thumb over her phone to turn off her alarm.

_There’s an article in the Dayton Contemporary about you!  Go read it now!  This is so exciting!_

Exciting wouldn’t be the word Quinn would use, but she did feel a little lighter and she could breathe a little easier.  She had formed this plan of action kind of in a blur, so she hadn’t been sure it was going to work.

Still, she was pretty sure.

If anything, this was a step in the right direction.

She doesn’t reply to Rachel--not yet.  Besides, after months of nothing, it would be weird to text back now.  Instead, she turns on her side so she can face the still sleeping Puck.

“Puck,” she whispers.

Nothing.

“Puck,” she tries again.

“What?” he groans, not quite awake.

Quinn steels herself a moment just before she asks, “When is Rachel going to be in town next?”

“Thanksgiving,” he replies, falling back asleep.

So she had two months.  She couldn’t decide if that was enough time or not, realistically speaking.

Quinn’s phone blinked again with words from Rachel.

_I may or may not have printed the article out for scrapbooking purposes.....:)_

Quinn got out of bed and walked to Puck’s desk.  It had quickly become as good as her own.  She found a working pen and a piece of paper.  She let herself drift back to that night in the New York hotel lobby, to that stupid bathroom during Prom, to the argument in the auditorium, to the first week under the bleachers, to that doctor’s office waiting room, to that duet, to that Avril Lavigne song, to that olive branch of a confrontation in the hallway, to the aftermath of Finn finding out--

To that first day, watching her, Finn, Mercedes, Kurt, Artie and Tina with Coach Sylvester, and _hearing her._

Quinn pressed pen to paper and didn’t stop until Puck was nudging her with a cup of coffee.

This just had to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs (sort of) Used:  
> Someday by Tegan and Sara  
> Daddy's Little Peach by Emery  
> Transylvanian by Say Anything  
> I Wanna Be Free by Panic! at the Disco


	5. Chapter 5

“So, wait, what exactly did he say?”

“He said he saw us last week, and that he would be interested in meeting with us when we had time.”

“Which would really mean, ‘as soon as possible’.”

“I guess.”

“Give me his number."

“What are you going to do with it?”

“Call him, obviously.”

“Right now?”

“This is a time sensitive business, Finn….Yes, Mr. Drexel?  This is Quinn Fabray….yes, _Lost I Am…_ We’re free when you are.”

*

The next day, Quinn, Puck, Sam, and Finn all met at Waffle House, and Quinn proceeded to explain proper business etiquette to the others.  In short, Quinn would handle all the talking unless any of the guys were directly addressed.  If that occurred, answers were to be minimal.  After Quinn felt that they adequately understood how today was to be handled and after Finn finished his third waffle, they were ready to go.  As they exited the restaurant, Puck exclaimed, “Shot gun, bitches!” and they all piled into Quinn’s Bug like sardines.  Sam and Finn more so than Quinn and Puck.

Anton Drexel (but “just call me Tony, please”) was tall and lanky.  However, he also was incredibly well dressed.  In fact, within five minutes of meeting him, Sam whispered “He’s like Kurt, but not, like, gay,” into Quinn’s ear.

Tony led them into his office, which was structured much more like Sam or Finn’s bedroom than an office—band posters lined the walls, and there were bean bag chairs instead of regular ones.  There were only three, however, so Finn elected to stand.

“I’m just going to be upfront with you guys,” Tony began.  “ _Lost I Am_ is awesome.  Probably the coolest thing to hit the Ohio music scene in recorded history.  Therefore, LDR Records wants all over that,” Tony said, leaning back into his bean bag.  “ _All_ over that.”

Puck wasn’t completely sure if Tony was leering at Quinn, but he still wanted to punch him.  He was also slightly confused because he was pretty sure he was being hypocritical.

Still, if this Tony guy didn’t keep his eyes up, Puck was going to punch him.

“While that is very flattering, Tony, I think we would like to know what exactly that would mean for us,” Quinn replied, managing to cross her legs elegantly, regardless of the fact that she was in a bean bag, dressed in ripped skinny jeans and peach colored tank top.

“Isn’t it obvious, Quinn?  You are at a local record label, known throughout the region for the best indie acts, after all.  We only deal with the best, and we want to include _Lost I Am_ on that list,” Tony explained.

“Until we become too big for you, right?” Quinn countered, arching an eyebrow.  This prompted Sam and Puck to stare at her with confusion, and Finn momentarily forgot his instructions whispering a frantic “What are you doing?” in Quinn’s direction.

“Of course,” Tony replied, unfazed, “but in the meantime, let LDR be the one to push you forward—from an entertaining garage act to a respected music outfit.”

“And how would you do this?”

“The basics:  An album, a website, and a tri-state area tour to support said album.  Minimal merchandising.  Perhaps an extended tour if the demand is there. We would revisit this in a year or so.”

“What about a label representative?”  Quinn asked.

“We’re small, Quinn.  All your dealings would be either with me or an intern under me.  Maybe one of my partners, Larsen or Reid, if I’m out of the office.”

Quinn sat quietly for a moment with all eyes in the room on her before she said, “Can you draw up a contract and then allow us some time to think it over?  You know, talk with our parents and all that?”

“Absolutely,” Tony, replied. 

“Excellent,” Quinn said as she stood up, moving forward to Tony’s desk. “We’ll speak again in about a week.”

“Deal,” Tony replied, also standing, shaking Quinn’s hand. “I look forward to working with you Quinn—to working with all of you.”

“Likewise,” Quinn said before turning to leave and motioning the guys—all of whom were wearing looks of confusion—to follow.

*

“What the fuck just happened?” Puck asked the minute they were safely back in Quinn’s Bug.

“Seriously, I feel like I have whiplash after that,” Sam agreed

“Quinn,” Finn said, turning to her from the passenger seat he had managed to steal from both Sam and Puck simply because they were too freaked out about the meeting that just took place, “Did this go good or not?”

“It went perfectly, Finn,” Quinn replied not taking her eyes off of the road.

“Okay, because I really had no idea what was going on,” Finn said

And that was okay.  It was how things went with them.  Quinn was the one with the plan, and rest of them were just along for the ride.  Quinn knew, even if the boys didn’t, exactly what this meeting meant.  It meant recording. It meant merch.  It meant a tour out of Lima.

It meant that their music was going to be heard.  That Quinn was going to be heard.  It meant that her plan was working.

But for Finn it meant something a little different.  As he watched her drive them back to the Waffle House where the rest of their cars were parked, Finn realized that Quinn was actually relaxed for the first time it what seemed like forever to him.  She was determined sure, and always reserved, but she was comfortable here in this car with him and with Puck and with Sam.  And they were in a band together, and sort of like a family.  It was sort of like Glee, but then not at all because Quinn was happy and Mr. Schue wasn’t making decisions for them, and Rachel--

Well, Rachel wasn’t around either.  But she liked almost everything that was posted on the band Facebook page, so that had to count for something.

After this meeting or whatever, it seemed to Finn like things were looking up for everyone.  And that was okay with Finn.

*

November was essentially a blur.  Barely a week after that first meeting with LDR, Quinn, Puck, Sam, and Finn found themselves at the edge of town, in front of a sizable log cabin, which apparently functioned as Larsen’s recording studio.  It was a place Judy would have described as “quaint” had she been there, with a wrap-around porch and an open ranch floor plan.  Larsen (equally as well-dressed as Tony, but less lanky) literally met them at the studio only to say hello and to toss Quinn the keys.

When asked if they would be working with a producer, he replied, “I’m more of a hands off kind of guy, so text me with questions.  But, I mean, you can do this.  Bon Iver won a Grammy with an album recorded in a cabin.  Not as nice as this one either, so keep that in mind.”

Five minutes after leaving, Larsen called Quinn to add, “Oh, and start a Tumblr for the band, and blog your progress,” hanging up before Quinn could respond.

“What did he say?”  Puck asked.

“He said we should blog our progress on Tumblr,” Quinn replied more than a little miffed.

“Isn’t that like Pinterest, but the pictures move?  Kurt was always on there looking at pictures of Meredith and that Asian girl from _Grey’s Anatomy_.”

“Dude, Tumblr is so much better than Pinterest,” Sam answered with disdain.

“Well,” Quinn began, as she started towards the front, “I guess that will be your job, Sam.  But we should probably unload the trucks first.”

For the first few hours, each of them was too freaked out to do anything.  They silently unloaded their gear from Finn and Puck’s trucks, and moved it into the studio they would be recording in.  To clarify, that space was also the living room.  The cabin was built with angled high ceilings, except for a loft area that had three sets of bunk beds and a desk.  There was a small kitchenette to the right of the entrance that conjoined with a community shower/bathroom area.  Directly under the loft was a small private bedroom with a vocal booth in the closet, and there was a note on the refrigerator that there was a washer and dryer downstairs.  There was also a large stone fireplace against the left wall of the living room that Puck kept eying every time he brought something in to the house.   

No one said a word until Finn accidentally smacked Sam upside of the head with a cymbal stand causing Sam to scream out, “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, Gigantor—watch what you are doing!”

“Oh man, I am so sorry,” Finn apologized quickly, but it seemed unneeded as everyone else in the room dissolved into laughter, allowing the anxiety and tension of their current situation (Read: _getting ready to record their first EP_ ) to dissipate.

Things were happening—maybe a bit fast, but they weren’t going to question that.  They were still Quinn, Puck, Sam and Finn, and as long as they stayed that way, they were going to be fine. 

*

“Dammit, some hipster blog has Lost I Am as their URL— _and_ they haven’t posted in a year!” Sam exclaimed later the night, as the rest of them became more acquainted with the space they would be occupying for the next couple of months.  Finn was checking over all of their equipment to make sure they had everything they would need to record the songs they had selected, Puck was figuring out how to connect everything to the recording system by trial and error, and Quinn was sprawled out on the floor next to Sam with desktop calendar and a pen ironing out a schedule.

“Put hyphens in it,” she replied

“I guess I could do that, but it looks so tacky.”

“I think it will be fine,” Quinn assured, smirking at him.

Just then, Finn stood up and said, “Unless Puck needs some weird computer thing for everything to work, I think we have everything we need to record.”

“I think I get the system enough to start recording tracks.  Mixing is what I’m a little confused about, but we’ve got awhile before we get to that step, right?  Plus, there’s like tons of cheat sheets in the bottom desk drawer, so I should be okay,” Puck supplied.

Quinn consulted her calendar before asking, “So we could theoretically begin recording tonight?”

“Well, yeah.  But if we are going to do that, we should probably go pick up some Hot Pockets or something because once you start, it’s pretty hard to get you to stop,” he answered.

“Fair enough, but just so you know, if we start recording tonight, we don’t have to record on Black Friday in order to meet our November 30th deadline,” Quinn stated.  “Of course, only if we stick to my calendar,” she qualified.

“Even though she scared me the entire time we dated, I feel compelled to say what Santana would say in this situation,” Sam said, looking up from Quinn’s laptop, before launching into an impression, “Okay, Quinchel Faberry, I get that your strangely organized.  Just don’t photoshop my face onto a cat, cool?”

Quinn had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing before she said, “As hilariously accurate as that was, just for that, there will be no ice cream purchased this evening.”

“OH COME ON,” Finn and Sam whined in unison, but Quinn was resolute.

That changed once they got to the store.

She caved.  Of course, she caved.  How could she not with both Finn and Sam looking like forlorn little puppies each time the group passed by the ice cream section.

They came back with bomb pops, dreamsicles, fudge bars, and drumsticks.  Puck was also insistent on ten boxes of mac ‘n cheese and three pounds of pastrami.  Quinn was sure to fill out the rest of their stock with things other than what a five year old would eat.

When they got to the cashier, Finn was the one who stepped up to pay.  When he saw Quinn raise a questioning eyebrow, he replied, “Burt let’s me help him out at the shop, and besides, you bought all the ice cream last time.”  He got his change from the cashier before adding, “Plus, you came up with this super awesome plan to get us out of Lima, so let me buy the groceries.”

“I’m that transparent, huh?”  Quinn asked.

“No, it’s just that I’ve known you for awhile now, and super awesome plans are kind of your thing,” Finn answered.  They walked from the bagging counter, following behind Sam who was pushing the cart, and ignoring Puck who was hitting on another cashier.

“Sometimes you surprise me, Finn.”

“Why?  Because I knew what ‘transparent’ meant?”

Quinn laughed and she pulled Puck’s keys out of her bag so she could unlock the tailgate.  “Well, that, but also because you notice the weirdest things.”

“Maybe they are the important things,” Finn replied, hefting a bag into the truck bed.

“Maybe.”

The continued to load the truck bed for a few minutes, but then Finn asked, “Wait, why do you have Puck’s keys?”

“So I could do this,” Quinn answered, pressing Puck’s panic button, setting off the alarm.  A few seconds later, Puck came running out of the store.

*

 **Rachel:**   Quinn, perhaps one of the boys already told you, but I wanted to personally let you know that I am having a get together of sorts for all the former and current Glee Club members at my house.  I hope to see you Black Friday at 9pm.

 **Rachel:** Don’t worry.  I highly doubt it will be a repeat of the last party had at my house.

Quinn read Rachel’s message a three more times before calling Puck.  The phone rang three times before he picked up. “I liked it better when you stayed here.  You didn’t wake me up so early.”

“You told her we wouldn’t be recording on Black Friday, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, I did.  I thought it was time to take away your excuses,” Puck answered plainly, “And don’t try to back out and say that we have to work because _you know_ Finn already said he’d be there.  Plus, when I talked to her, Sam had already said the day was clear too.”

“Puck, you don’t know what this—” Quinn began tightly before being cut off.

“Is about, I know.  Nobody understands except you, right?" 

Quinn didn’t have time to respond before Puck said, “Look, maybe the other guys don’t get it, but I think it’s actually plain as day.  So how about you cut the crap with me and try to deal with you issues like a normal person for once.  You are going to that party even if I have to physically drag you, got it?”

He didn’t wait for answer before hanging up.  Quinn figured it probably didn’t matter much to him anyway.

This was problematic, to say the least.  It did not fit in with the plan at all, for one thing.  It was all too soon and she wasn’t ready to actually…

And then of course, she had no idea what she was going to wear.  It was really getting too cold to wear ripped jeans and tank tops with just a black scarf every day, but her newly adopted style left her wholly unprepared for winter.

Quinn began rifling through her old clothes looking for things that could maybe bridge the fashion gap.  Five dresses, seven skirts and three cardigans later, Judy knocked on Quinn’s door, cracking it slightly.

“Quinn, I am going to Target, do you—Oh, you’re up. I was just wondering if you needed anything from the store?"

Her next words may have sounded desperate, but these were desperate times.

“Um, actually, I was wondering if I could go with you?  There’s this party…and I need a, well, I need some winter clothes.”

For a second there, Quinn was sure Judy had had a stroke.

*

 **Rachel:** Happy Thanksgiving, Quinn.  I am so thankful I get to see you tomorrow! :D 

* 

Judy had insisted that she layer her newly purchased gray pullover over a yellow bird-print blouse, saying that it “complimented the pink highlights of her hair” or something to that effect, but Quinn was wondering if the ensemble might actually be suffocating her.  Quinn checked the collar of her blouse and smoothed her sweater three times before she was able to actually get out of her Bug and walk to Rachel’s front door.  She didn’t have to knock because Rachel exploded out of the house to meet her in a blur.

“Quinn, oh my goodness, you’re here!” Rachel exclaimed, quickly wrapping Quinn into a tight hug.  “It is _so_ good to see you!  How have you been?”

Rachel pulled away and, just when Quinn thought she was free, she absently began to play with Quinn fingers, making it very difficult to respond.

“Yeah, it’s been forever,” she mustered, “I’ve been good.  How are you?”

“Fantastic, really, but you know all that.  I want to hear about you!”  Rachel replied leading Quinn down to her basement.

“There really isn’t much going on, Rach—” Rachel stopped suddenly and Quinn had ran into her back, consequently cutting herself off.

“My closest friend becomes the front woman of a successful local rock band, and has the nerve to say that there is not much going on?  I knew you were humble, Quinn Fabray, but this is ridiculous.”

Rachel was waiting expectantly for some sort of reply, but Quinn was still a few words behind, stuck on the phrase, ‘my closest friend’.

When did that happen?  Where had she been at the time?

“It’s just that I’m sure Puck and Finn have told you everything,” Quinn sputtered out.

Rachel smiled softly and nodded as she said, “Yeah, they’ve been keeping me informed, but” she looked up to meet Quinn’s confused gaze, “I want to hear it from you.”

Quinn raised an eyebrow in question and Rachel surprisingly mirrored the gesture   NYADA acting classes must also involve witchcraft for accuracy.

“Okay, well, we started recording our EP on the fifth.  We are about two songs in with three to go.  We’ll tour around with it a little bit after Christmas, and if things go well, we’ll be back in the studio to record the full length album around Valentine’s Day,” Quinn stated plainly.

“So by the time I finish my Spring semester, I should expect to hear Grammy buzz, and I won’t even be able to see any of your shows because every single ticket will be sold, correct?” Rachel asked, winking.  Actually winking.

Who was this girl?  Where was Rachel?

“Have you been drinking?”

“Oh, only a little.  Noah was kind enough to make me a drink.”

Alright, this was something Quinn could deal with.

“Is that so?” she replied in a level tone, “How about you take me downstairs so I can see everyone else now, Rachel.”

Instead of responding, Rachel grabbed Quinn’s hand again and led her the rest of the way downstairs, yelling, “Guess what guys?  Quinn is here!  Finally!

Finally?  It was only 9:04 when she got out of the car.

“Thank God.  Now can you stop acting like you’re on speed, Hobbit?” Santana asked sardonically, spread across a couch while Brittany sat on top of stomach as she seemed to be in deep conversation with Blaine, seated in the loveseat across, about something that either had him very confused or very afraid, with Kurt at his side.

“Yes, Santana, I think my anxiety will dissipate now, thank you for your concern,” Rachel replied, and Quinn was not sure if she was being sarcastic or not.  NYADA witchcraft, surely.  Or maybe she just didn’t know anymore.

Everyone turned to say hello to Quinn before returning to the conversations they were having before she came in.  Sam was showing new impressions to Mercedes and Tina, and Finn was catching up with Artie and Mike, who both seemed to be in better spirits than when they left.  Puck, however, was not in sight.

Kurt got up from his seat and made his way over to greet Quinn.  “Always a pleasure to see you, Quinn.  I see that your fashion choices have diversified since I last saw you.  The blouse is nice touch.  It really compliments the pink.”

Quinn was momentarily distracted with the thought that her mother was on the same fashion level as Kurt Hummel, before responding in kind, “It’s nice to be here.  Looks like New York is treating you well?”

Kurt laughed as he quipped, “Only as well as New York can treat anyone.  Certainly better than Lima.”

“That’s good to hear,” Quinn said genuinely.  “Now, where is Puck hiding?”

“Behind the bar,” Kurt answered.  “He bolted there as soon as he heard you come in.”

Quinn gave her thanks and made her way to the bar.  Thankfully, Blaine began calling for karaoke in order to get away from whatever Brittany was saying, and Mercedes and Rachel immediately began to argue who should sing first.  So when Quinn found Puck cowering behind the bar, they were essentially alone.

“Rachel told me you fixed her a drink?”

“Quinn it really was nothing.  Not even a shot in her coke.  That’s it.  Honest,” Puck pleaded, holding his hands up to shield his face.  “Don’t kill me.”

“Not even a shot, huh?  Then why was she tipsy before I got here?” Quinn grilled.

“Pre-gaming?” Puck answered hopefully.

Puck, what the fuck is wrong with you?  This is Rachel Berry.  She—does not— _pre-game_!” Quinn chastised quietly.

“I dunno, okay?  She was acting all nervous and…jittery, so I offered to make her a drink to take the edge off because Santana was literally about to kill her.  I gave it to her, _she chugs the damn thing_ , and then you showed up,” Puck explained.  Still cowering; still shielding his face.

“The why is she acting so…weird?” Quinn hissed, crouching down to pull his hands from his face.

“I dunno, Baby Mama, maybe she actually just happy to see you!” Puck retorted

Before Quinn could counter him, Rachel’s voice boomed through the basement’s PA system.

“Okay…okay!  Ready?  Yeah.  This next song is in honor of the success of our local rock stars, Lost I Am, but especially for my friend, Quinn Fabray who I am so excited is here tonight!”

Puck and Quinn both popped up from behind the bar, Puck with a grin on his face and Quinn looking like a deer caught in headlights.

“Yeah, this is for you!” Rachel exclaimed, catching sight of Quinn and pointing.  This caused everyone else to look back as well, all with looks of confusion their faces.  Except for Santana.  Santana just looked bored.  Rachel took a moment to compose herself and yelled to Sam to “hit it.”

Quinn had witnessed her fair share of Rachel Berry solos and was fully expecting a reprise of _Defying Gravity_ , when, suddenly, distorted guitar ripped through the speakers.  Drums, bass and lead guitar soon joined in, and it became clear that this was not Rachel Berry’s usual solo fare.

“Things are looking up.  Oh, finally!” Rachel crooned into the mic, taking a power stance. “I thought I’d never see the day when you’d smile at me.”

“Is this…Paramore?” Quinn whispered.

“Yeah, she kinda thinks there more your type of music, you know?  They go with the new you.”

It’s not like Quinn could counter that.  She had changed a lot over the last year and half.  It was endearing that Rachel still tried to find ways to connect.  The adoption of Paramore may have been for Quinn, but it was a change that was distinctly Rachel.

Quinn watched, enamored as Rachel launched into the chorus, “Honestly, can you believe we crossed the world while it's asleep? I'd never trade it in ‘cause I've always wanted this, and,” Rachel jumped down to the lower platform of her stage and begin to fist pump in half time, “It's not a dream anymore.  No, it's not a dream anymore.  It's worth fighting for.”

Slowly but surely, Rachel’s energy infected everyone.  Brittany, Mike and Same were headbanging.  Santana, Mercedes, Tina, and Kurt were dancing and singing along.  Blaine and Artie were rocking out on air guitar, and Finn was pounding some air drums.  Puck climbed up on top of the bar and pulled Quinn up beside him.  He pulled her to his side with one arm and fist pumped with the other.  All Quinn could do was smile.

Rachel attacked the outro, jumping up and down with the beat, belting, “I can’t believe we almost hung it up.  We’re just getting started.  Yeah, we’re just getting started!” over and over until the music came to a close, holding out her last note just as long as the final chord.

The room erupted in clapping and screaming and calls for encores, but they were only met with a humble “Thank you” before Rachel left the stage and made a beeline for the bar.  Puck jumped down and quickly helped Quinn down to her feet as well. Two seconds later, Quinn was standing face to face with a flushed Rachel Berry.

“So,” she asked expectantly, “what did you think?”

Quinn could feel Puck fixing her collar. Part of her wanted to slap him, part of her wanted to laugh, but most of her was focused on answering Rachel.  “You were…well…you were _you_.”

“Am I good?” Rachel asked playfully

“Very,” Quinn replied immediately.

“I’m glad you like me.”  Before Quinn could process what Rachel was saying, she added, “I understand that the song choice may have seemed slightly preemptive at times, but I’d like to think that it’s more like foreshadowing than anything.”  Rachel leaned in to whisper in Quinn’s ear, “Besides, I’m kind of psychic.”

Everything was backwards here.  It felt like Rachel had the upper hand.  Like Rachel knew where this was going and what was happening right now when Quinn didn’t.

“Rachel, I—”

“Like I know you guys are having your weird Quinn and Rachel alone time in the middle of public place, and I understand that it’s super important and everything, but you are blocking the booze,” Santana interjects.

“That’s quite alright, Santana.  Quinn and I will just go out to the deck,” Rachel replied, taking Quinn’s hand in hers for the second time that night.

She led Quinn upstairs to the living room and then began to ascend the stairs to the second story of the house, but Quinn paused, but didn’t drop Rachel’s hand.

“Rachel, I thought we were going out to the deck?”

“Well, it’s not like I was actually going to tell Santana that we were going up to my room.  She would have way too much fun with that." 

Quinn eyes widened, as she asked, “Why are we going to your room?”

Rachel looked at Quinn carefully. “To talk,” she answered obviously, as if there was literally nothing else they could be doing.  An implication Quinn found both comforting and painful—just like every other day.  But Quinn didn’t object, so Rachel continued to lead her upstairs.

The room was largely unchanged from the last time Quinn had been there two years prior.  The only addition that caught Quinn’s eye was collage of article clippings and ticket stubs that were tacked up on the wall next to Rachel’s trophy collection.  She walked closer to examine them and asked, “Are these…all about band?”

“Mhmm, those are all from this summer,” Rachel replied, sitting on her bed so that her back was against her headboard and she could prop her feet up.  “I have another collage in my room at the apartment.  I’m actually taking those back with me, so I can combine them.”

Only because she felt awkward doing anything else, Quinn sat on the corner of Rachel’s bed.  “Do you _really_ like our music?” she pressed.  Before Rachel could answer, Quinn added, “Be honest.”

Rachel swung her legs off her bed and rolled onto her stomach so that she was only a few inches from Quinn when she said, “Yes, I do really like your music,” Quinn could smell the alcohol on her breath, “Is that so hard to believe?”

“Well, it’s not really your type,” Quinn qualified weakly.

“True, but it’s a far cry from 1960’s pop too.”

They both laughed at each other for a moment, and with each passing second, the gravity of the current circumstances was becoming more and more apparent to Quinn.  She was in Rachel’s room, and they were laughing and talking like normal people.

“But really, Noah and Sam are both excellent guitarists, and both of their voices harmonize beautifully with yours.  Finn is an excellent drummer.  Perhaps a better drummer than vocalist at this point.  And you—well, to borrow your description from earlier—‘you’re _you_ ’.”

“‘Am I good?’” Quinn parroted. 

“‘Very’,” Rachel played along.

“‘I’m glad you like me’.”

“Yes,” Rachel said, leaning closer, “I do very much like you, Quinn Fabray.”

It would have been so easy for Quinn to just lean down a little more to meet her lips.  And then they would have kissed for the first time.  Because first kisses are really actually easy.  It’s just one person meeting another at the same place for the first time.

But Quinn wasn’t ready to meet Rachel yet, and she doubted that Rachel was ready either.

“Rachel, no,” Quinn whispered.

“Quinn, yes,” Rachel mimicked

“Rachel, you’re drunk.”

“So what?" 

“So this can’t happen right now,” Quinn concluded, pulling away finally.

“I—”

“You know, I should go,” Quinn stated, cutting Rachel off.  She was almost to the door by the time Rachel’s desperate response actually registered.

“I’m sorry, Quinn.  Please don’t leave.  I’ll sober up and we can—can…watch a movie or something.  No talking, no flirting, just,” Rachel began to hold back tears, “Please, don’t leave.  Not now.  Not after waiting so long.”

Quinn closed her eyes and exhaled heavily through her nose, calming herself before turning to face Rachel.  “What movie?”

“Um, before they left for their anniversary trip last night, my dads,” Rachel took a moment to compose herself, “surprised me when I got home with _The Hunger Games_.  How about that?”

Quinn nodded and sat back down on the bed, while Rachel got up to put the movie in.  Through the first half hour of the movie, they did a good job of keeping at least a foot of space between them on the bed.  But after the initial bloodbath in the Arena, Rachel began inching her way—whether it be conscious or not—closer to Quinn.  After watching a bunch of children get cinematically slaughtered, Quinn didn’t really have the heart to push her away.

By the time people started coming up to say goodbye to Rachel (you know, the hostess), she was asleep, burrowed into Quinn’s side.  The movie had also ended, so when people came up, they found Quinn watching a ‘Making Of’ featurette.

Puck, Sam, Kurt, Blaine and Brittany thought nothing of this.  Artie couldn’t make the stairs, so he didn’t see it.  Tina and Mike pretended they weren’t slightly weirded out at the sight of Rachel asleep on top of Quinn, and were mostly successful.  Mercedes, God bless her, let out a restrained “Awwwww,” followed by a whispered, “Nice seeing you, Quinn.  Can’t wait for your album,” and Santana’s only response was her default, “Wanky,” with an added “Text me later.”  Of course, it was only Finn who seemed to have an obvious issue with the situation.

“I was hoping to get a chance to talk to her,” he complained.

“Well, I’m sorry, but she fell asleep, Finn,” Quinn whispered.

“I know, but you got to spend all night with her, and she only wanted to talk to you, and she sang for you—”

“Finn, this is sounding more and more like a personal problem.  I can’t do anything about it.  I’ll see you at the studio Monday,” Quinn cut him off, leaving him no room for argument.  He didn’t storm off because he didn’t want wake Rachel, but Finn did attempt a muted version, which really just equated to him clenching his fists and marching out of the door.

Once she was sure everyone had left, Quinn gently extricated herself from Rachel, and softly went downstairs to lock all of the doors and turn off all of the lights. She checked to the basement, happy to find that it wasn’t completely trashed, and headed back upstairs to Rachel.

She quietly stripped off her sweater and blouse, so that she was down to a tank top, and kicked off her black ankle boots.  Still, with jeans, she wasn’t exactly comfortable, but it was alright.  She carefully turned down the bed sheets and tucked them both in without waking Rachel.  Puck may have been right about the pre-gaming.

Rachel’s hand sought Quinn’s under the covers and pulled them closer together.   Quinn used her other arm to turn off the television, and then wrapped it around Rachel, earning Quinn a content sigh.

Yeah, they weren’t on the same page yet.  They certainly weren’t ready to meet anywhere.  But it was the hope that maybe someday—after everyone got out and Quinn could stand on her own two feet again without worrying that it was all going to fall apart—they _could_ that allowed Quinn to close her eyes and let sleep take her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs Used:
> 
> Looking Up by Paramore
> 
> Okay, so I know it’s been four months, and I am sorry. I had been trying to write this chapter all throughout that time though, so it will probably seem a little more segmented than the others. If it’s any consolation, I finished my undergrad last semester….so yeah.
> 
> Anyway, I have in no way shape or form given up on this story. JUST FYI.
> 
> Also, and more importantly, I may have skimped on the recording process in this chapter, but that’s because LIA’s Tumblr URL is legit. I have constructed a pseudo-website for them. It’s sort of like a Diet RP. Lost-i-am.tumblr.com


	6. Chapter 6

To say that Rachel was surprised to wake up alone would be an understatement.  Especially since she could specifically recall falling asleep next to Quinn.  However, her head felt like it was splitting in half and everything was entirely too bright, so for a moment she almost believed that her fact recall could be relatively in question.

And then she saw it.  A star shaped post-it note, stolen from her desk and stuck onto her alarm clock.

_Good morning, Rachel Berry,_ it read in perfect cursive that Rachel would bet her career always received Exemplary ratings on her elementary school conduct reports.

  _Being part of something special and makes you special.  I’m trying to catch up._

_Quinn_

Rachel smiled in spite of herself.  She could read between the lines—a little, at least.  Quinn said she was special.

Even after everything, Quinn Fabray saying something like that to Rachel Berry made Rachel feel, for lack of a better description, warm and fuzzy.

*

_Remind me never again to drink.  Hangovers are not worth the temporary courage/insanity._

*

Quinn was sprawled out on the floor watching the blades of the ceiling fan in her room rotate.  Judy had a very low tolerance for cold, and with Russell gone she maintained a temperature of seventy-seven degrees within the home from Thanksgiving to Valentine’s Day.  Therefore, Quinn spent a lot of Winter sprawled out on the cool hardwood of her bedroom in as little clothing as possible.  Thankfully, this year, she hadn’t spent much time at home.  She and the guys had worked there asses off for the last couple of weeks recording and mixing their upcoming EP.  Plus, if they weren’t in the studio, they were planning the post-holiday tour.  Quinn basically spent every spare moment either working out venue logistics with Puck or going over t-shirt designs and merch plans with Sam.  And Quinn liked it that way.  Being busy meant staying focused.

However, the guys didn’t work that way.  They needed to have days off to sleep or play Call of Duty or…whatever else they did.  That’s why Quinn was at home, lying on her bedroom floor, listening to Relient K, desperately trying to make her brain turn off.

She couldn’t decide if the Black Friday party had been a mistake or not.  She got Rachel’s text a couple hours after she had made it back home.  Which of course meant that Rachel had read the note Quinn had left.  But Rachel didn’t act any differently.  Over the course of the following four weeks, Rachel kept texting her like she always did.  Puck even asked her if anything happened, which meant that Rachel wasn’t talking to him about it.  It was like she made a point not to act any differently, and Quinn couldn’t tell if that was a good or bad.

On another level, Quinn didn’t know what she was expecting—or even what she wanted—to happen in a post-Rachel-got-drunk-and-dragged-Quinn-up-to-her-room-and-then-they-fell-asleep world.  But _nothing_ happened.  Everything continued on between them like it had been.  Rachel still messaged her at least once every day.  Quinn still threw herself into the band instead of responding. Life was still totally (relatively) normal.

Except it wasn’t.

Because Quinn now knew what it felt like for Rachel to fall asleep pressed against her.  Because Quinn now knew that Rachel was a blanket hog, just like she always thought she would be.  Because Quinn now knew what it felt like to wake up next to Rachel in the morning. 

And Rachel had to now know that Quinn—

Felt…something.

Right?  She had to know that now.

But Quinn couldn’t be sure, and that’s what was driving her crazy.

A tentative knock on her bedroom door broke Quinn out of her thoughts.  “I’m not hungry, Mom,” she yelled in the general direction of her door, not bothering to get up.

It was Sam’s voice that replied “I’ll be sure to tell her that,” from the other side of the door.  Quinn jumped up and quickly opened the door.

“Sam, what are you doing here?” Quinn asked, leading him into her room.

“Can’t a guy come over just to hang out?” he deflected as he forced a laugh and sat down beside her on the bed.

“Sure, if that’s why you’re here,” Quinn replied trying to make eye contact with him, “but something tells me that’s not the case.”

They sat in silence for a moment, Sam still not meeting Quinn’s gaze.  After a moment or so, Sam said, “I didn’t know you liked Relient K.”

“Yeah, well, youth group habits die hard, I guess.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Sam murmured. 

After it became clear that Sam wasn’t going to talk without some serious prompting, Quinn took both of his hands in hers and turned to face him directly.  “Sam, what’s wrong?”

“I’m moving to Tennessee,” he replied evenly, finally making eye contact with Quinn.  There were tears forming in the corners of his eyes.

“What?” Quinn gasped, dropping his hands. “Why?”

“I know… I know, but my family,” He sobbed in earnest. “They sacrificed so much so I could finish out high school here, but they can’t do it anymore, Quinn.”  He paused, pressing his palms to his eyes hard as he took a deep breath.  “It’s a miracle that my dad could even get this job in Tennessee since he had already passed it up last summer.”

Quinn’s throat tightened.  Of course this was all too good to be true.  Of course this would happen.  She should have seen it coming really.  Quinn should have expected something to go wrong.  She would have to regroup again, rebuild again.  Of course, one of them was going to let her down. Shock coursed through her body so fast that she felt like she was outside of herself looking at the both of them from above. 

But this really was her last chance.  She honestly didn’t have a backup plan this time.  God, she was counting on this finally working out.  And, damn if didn’t hurt like Hell.

But none of it was Sam’s fault.

She regained her poise—she was Quinn Fabray—and gently reached an arm around the boy’s shoulder, pressing him to her.  “Sam, it’s okay.  I get it.  I know things have been hard with your family.  This is a good thing,” she soothed.

“No, it’s not.  Not right now.  I mean, we have the band and the tour, and oh jeez the EP—“

“Sam, listen:  It’s okay. You have to do what you have to do.  I understand.  Puck and Finn will understand too.”

“Quinn, it’s not okay!”  Sam exclaimed abruptly standing. “Stop putting up a front and be real with me for once!”

“I don’t under—”

“I don’t want to move, Quinn.  But I have to.  I _have_ to because I have nowhere else to go.  And once I go, that’s it.  I won’t be able to go on tour.  I won’t be able to be in this band.  I won’t be able to help you.  And that is not okay,” Sam continued in a strained voice, “I wanted this, too, Quinn.  Maybe not as much you, but I still wanted it.  And you don’t care.”

“I don’t _care_?” Quinn asked incredulously. “What do you want me to do, Sam?” She retaliated, standing up so they were on even footing. “Get mad at you?  Beg for you not to leave?  Tell you to tell your family to fuck off?”

“Well, no, but you should…be _something_!” Sam whined, dragging a hand through his hair.

“Fine, Sam. Yeah, I’m mad. I am so angry because this had to happen now, right when we were finally going to get out of here.  I am _pissed_ that you are running out on me—”

“I’m not running out you!”

“—just like everyone else.  Is that what you wanted to hear?  Is that what you were expecting?  Well, excuse me for being understanding.  Excuse me for trying to not to be the selfish bitch everyone thinks I am!  Is this _something_ enough for you?” Quinn spat with more venom then Sam had experienced in over a year.

The words rang in her own ears over and over. _Is this feeling enough for you?_

Don’t they know she feels everything?  Every little _thing._

“Do you really think I would expect you to abandon your family, Sam?” Quinn sobbed.  “They need you.”

“But that’s what sucks, Quinn!” Sam yelled. “ _You_ are my family, and _you_ need me too.  And I don’t know what to do!”

Both of them had tears streaming down their faces when Judy burst into Quinn’s room.  “I don’t know what this is about, but I will not tolerate it in my home any longer.  Young man, I think you should leave.”

Sam roughly wiped his face with his forearm.  “I’m sorry.”  He sniffled and sighed, trying to collect himself. “You’re right, I should go.  I’m sorry for causing a scene, Ms. Fabray.”

Quinn was frozen where she stood as Judy cleared the way, so Sam could leave. Quinn was missing something, she could feel it.  She was supposed to stop this.  She was supposed to fix this.  Just before he stepped out of the room, he turned to look back at Quinn. “I wish I had an answer.”

Her mother was scowling at him—or trying to, anyway—and Sam was walking out of her room.  He was leaving.  Leaving the band.  Leaving her.

He was leaving.

“Stay here.”

*

It was a desperate plea—plain and simple.  That’s probably why Judy ushered Sam into the guest room before she could properly escort him off of the premise, quietly asking him to wait while she conferred with her daughter, instead of just pushing the boy down the stairs.  Or maybe Judy just wasn’t as confrontational as she thought she was.

When she returned, Quinn was sitting on her bed with the stuffed toy lamb she’s had since infancy wrapped in her arms, her eyes fixed on the floor.

Judy approached quietly and sat down beside her, gingerly moving a stray hair behind her daughter’s ear and effectively breaking her out of her trance.

“He can’t leave, Mom.”

It was nearly incoherent to Judy.  Here was her daughter’s voice—so soft, so sure—addressing her directly for the first time in years, and who was Judy to deny her?  But she couldn’t lose herself to novelty.

“Quinn, I don’t know what you two were arguing about, and I know Sam is generally a very nice boy, but I think you two need some time apart to work out your disagreement.”

 “It wasn’t a disagreement,” Quinn said, absently picking at the worn cotton of her lamb.

“Then what was that _loud_ conversation about?”

Quinn smiled even though she didn’t want to, and that was another victory Judy didn’t think she would see again.

“His family is moving to Tennessee, and he doesn’t want to because the band is about do release are first EP, but he really doesn’t have anything he can do about it.”

“And?” Judy prodded gently.

“And he is mad that I’m not as…outwardly…mad about it as he is.”

Quinn sniffled, and it was adorable.  It reminded Judy of all the times she had to calm Lucy down after waking up with nightmares featuring the unsavory characters from whichever book she read or movie she watched that day.

“You both seemed pretty upset by the time I came in.”

Quinn nodded.

“But I fail to see how Sam staying here would fix anything.  In fact, I don’t think it’s a good idea.  The boy would be better off with his family.”

That finally caused her daughter to look at her.

“Mom, no.  He has to stay here.  With me.  He’s better off with me.”

“Quinn, I can’t have some boy I barely know living under my roof.”  _What would people think?_ would have been her follow up several years ago, but time changes everything.  Even Judy Fabray. “It makes me feel uncomfortable, not to mention that it would be inappropriate for me, as a parent, to allow a young boy that you have history with to live with us unchecked.”

Quinn’s brow furrowed as she asked, “You think that I want this because I have feelings for him?  You think I don’t want to lose him because…I want to date him?”

Her expression was incredulous, and Judyknew instantaneously that she had said the exact wrong thing.  Even she knew it was a long shot that Quinn would want Sam here for romantic reasons.  Quinn wasn’t very discreet after all, but she had to save face.

“Well, what do you expect me to think?  It seems like you spend every moment with him, and now you are asking me to let him live here.”

Quinn sighed and was quiet for a moment before saying in slow and measured syllables, “I do not have feelings for Sam.  Any time we spend together, we are either with Noah and Finn or Stacy and Stevie.  I want him to live here because if he leaves it will be bad for the band, and we have two unused bedrooms.” She waited a beat before adding, “Again, I do not have feelings for Sam.”

“I still feel uncomfortable.  After all, what will his parents think?” Judy said.

“Honestly, they will probably be grateful with one less mouth to feed, and it would take a lot of stress off of Sam.  I get that you are uncomfortable, objectively.  But,” Quinn met Judy’s gaze, “I’m asking you to trust me.”

She wanted to be resolute.  She wanted to put her foot down because letting a teenage boy live with her daughter who had already gone though a teen pregnancy and apparently some sort of mental break down while Judy wasn’t looking just _screamed_ bad idea.

But in the back of her head, this felt like life or death to Judy.

She looked her daughter over:  Her short, choppy, _pink_ hair, and her fierce hazel eyes, clear and unafraid.  Underneath the plastic surgery Russell paid for, Lucy’s eyes were staring back at her for the first time in years.

“This is important, isn’t it?”

Quinn smiled genuinely.  “It is.”

Judy took a deep breath and nodded.  This is what her daughter needed—and maybe, it’s what Sam needed—so, this time, she was going to provide for her.

“I’ll need to talk with his parents first, obviously, but—”

Quinn leaned into Judy and wrapped her arms tightly around her.

“Thank you, Mom.”

Even with the money and status and the focus on maintaining a good reputation and instilling her children with “motivation” (Russell called it that, but she knows now it was just plain abuse), in this moment, with her daughter’s arms wrapped around her in _relief_ , she knows that this is where her focus should have been—in being present with her children.

_Oh, Lucy_ , she thought, _what else have I missed?_

*

Quinn was anxious.  Tony, Larsen and Reid were coming to the studio to listen to their newly finished EP, _Friends Who Can Relate_ for the first time.  Quinn and Puck had been good about sending them demos and clips throughout the recording process, but this is the first time their management would actually be listening to the EP as a whole.

If it went well, the master recordings would be sent off to be mass produced onto CDs and released as digital copies on their website to sell.  They would then go on post-holiday mini-tour several weeks later.

If it did not go well, however, they would spend the weeks before the post-holiday mini-tour reworking the EP, and they would only have vouchers for the digital copies to sell during the tour, rather than physical CDs, which would probably translate into more work and less money.

They were due to arrive at any minute.  In fact, they were running a little late, which was not doing Quinn’s nerves any good.

On top of that, after they met with Tony, Larsen and Reid, Quinn was driving over to Sam’s to help him move out.  The day after Sam came over, and Quinn convinced Judy to let him move in, Judy (to Quinn’s very pleasant surprise) took it upon herself to call Mr. and Mrs. Evans to invite them over to dinner to sell the idea of Sam living with them. 

According to Sam (because Quinn didn’t feel comfortable asking Judy), Judy’s approach was very logical:  Quinn and Judy were very comfortable with Sam and his family because they went to the same church.  Sam’s family was in trouble, so it was practically Quinn and Judy’s Christian duty to help the best way that they could.  Because Sam had ties and prospects in Lima, offering him a place in their home was the best and most cost-effective solution for both parties.  Sam’s mother cried, but still agreed that Judy was right. 

And so it was decided that Sam would live with Quinn and Judy.  He would sleep in the guest bedroom at the other end of the house because that made Judy feel the most comfortable about the whole thing, even though Quinn, Sam and Judy all knew that there was really nothing to be uncomfortable about.

It was fairly straightforward, and it was what Quinn and Sam both wanted, but Quinn still had one reservation:  She didn’t know how to tell Puck.  And Finn, but mostly Puck.

It’s not like he would really have anything to be upset about.  She hadn’t stayed with him for a few months—not since she could crash at the studio if she really didn’t want to go home.  And they weren’t _anything._ There wasn’t anything between them besides what has always been between them.  And there wasn’t anything between her and Sam for Puck to even get legitimately mad about.

Still, she just had this feeling in her gut that he would.

But she couldn’t worry about that until she took care of business with management.  Tony, Larsen and Reid would be arriving at the studio any minute, and she couldn’t be distracted with what might piss off Puck. (Really, what else is new?)

“So…it’s 2:40.  Where are they?”

“Shut up, Finn.”

*

They arrived at twenty minutes later.  Tony gave some sort of half-fleshed out apology, but Reid—or who Sam could only assume was Reid since they had already met the L and D of LDR Records—headed straight for the recording studio.  He didn’t even introduce himself before blasting the first track of their EP through the speakers.

He was the shortest of the three by at least a full head.  He kind of looked like Blaine if Blaine wore normal clothes and didn’t use a jar of Vaseline on his hair every day.  Sam briefly wondered if that meant Tony and Reid were also dating, but then he remembered that Tony and Reid were both straight, so that was crazy.

_Then_ he remembered that he really had no idea if Tony and Reid were straight.  I mean, he thought Quinn was straight, and that was totally wrong.

The second track started to play and Reid started to bob his head with the beat.  Sam looked at Finn, who shrugged.  So then he looked to Puck, but Puck was too busy glaring and Tony who was ogling Quinn.  Sam made a note to punch Tony when he got the chance.  He was definitely straight, but he was also definitely a douche.

Sam finally met Quinn’s gaze, and she smirked.  Good sign.  Things were going well.  Larsen grinned at Reid when the next song started.  Maybe Sam was wrong: maybe Reid and Larsen were dating.

They all stood in silence while the next two tracks played, Reid’s smile growing with each passing minute.  Sam thought they were finished and was bracing himself for…whatever happens after record label people listen to a band’s music…when a guitar lick blasted through the speakers.  He, Puck, Finn, Tony and Larsen’s head whipped around to the computer that was playing the tracks, completely surprised.  Only Quinn and Reid seemed calm.

Tony shook his head, “I don’t remember this one.”

“It’s new,” Quinn replied.  “We didn’t have time to send you a demo.”

“It’s…,” Larsen started.

“Fantastic,” Reid finished, “Single material.”

Okay, Sam definitely shipped Reid and Larsen

“My thoughts exactly,” Quinn directed to Reid with a smile.

*

Larsen, Tony and Reid had just pulled out of the driveway when Puck lifted Quinn up in a hug.  “We did it, Q!  We’re gonna have a CD!”

Quinn shrieked in spite of herself. “Yeah, we are,” she giggled back, bracing herself on his shoulders. “Now could you please put me down?”

He did, of course.  Gently, and with a quiet, “Sorry, Baby Mamma”, too.

“We should celebrate.  Order pizza!  I’ll go get beer.  My treat.”  He started looking around for his keys.  Finn was on the phone with Carole, repeating “we did it, we really did it” over and over.  Sam was all smiles, but he was also standing by the door.  She really couldn’t put this off any longer.

“Puck, I can’t.”

Puck shook his head quickly, like electric shock. “What do you mean you can’t?  Screw your diet, Q.  We are going to have an EP.”  He moved to walk past her, but she grabbed his arm.

“I have to go with Sam.  His parents are moving—”

“Moving? To where?!”

“Tennessee, but—”

“Tennessee?! But what about the band?  Is he running out on us?”  Puck shot a glare at Sam.  “You son of a bitch—”

Sam moved from the door, defensive. “What the hell, man?”

“Noah, let me finish!” Quinn barked out.  “And stop glaring at Sam.  He’s not running out on us.”

“Fine,” Puck spat, crossing his arms, and shooting Sam one last glare.  “I’m sorry.  You were saying?”

Once she was sure she had eye contact, Quinn steeled herself and pulled the trigger.

“Sam is moving in with me. His parents are moving to Tennessee, so in order to keep this going, he’s moving in.  And we told his parents we would get his stuff tonight.” She watched the confusion and hurt play on Puck’s face before he schooled his features into cold stare.

“Right.  I get it.”

“You do?”  Quinn was wary.

“Sure.  It’s a hell of a lot easier to crawl into someone’s bed if you live under the same roof.  And it’s not like Judy was going to let _me_ move in.”

“Bro, that’s low,” Sam exclaimed.

Quinn shook her head. “Noah, you know it’s not like that.”

“Sure it’s not like that now, but it will be,” Puck yelled.  Then he fixed his eyes on Sam, “And I’m not your, bro.”

“Nothing is going on between me and Sam,” Quinn gritted out.

“Yes, and nothing is going on between me and you.”

“Nothing _is_ going on between us!”

“But it doesn’t stop you from using us, does it?!” Puck bellowed.  He had tears in his eyes.  Quinn had never seen him cry before.

She took a tentative step forward, reaching for his hand.

“Puck…”

He ripped it away and frantically pushed past all of them.

“I’m sorry.  This…was wrong.  I need time.  Call me next week.”

Sam looked to Quinn while they heard Puck’s truck start and pull away, but she couldn’t find words.

*

Hours later, Sam found Quinn crossed-legged on her bed, furiously writing into a dog-eared composition book.  He probably could have walked right in without her noticing, but he still knocked on the doorframe. “Writing in your diary?” he joked.

Quinn chuckled and he joined her on the bed. “Ah, yes. ‘Dear Diary. Today one of the most handsome boys at McKinley moved in to my house.  He will be staying in the far guest bedroom.  My life is becoming an ABC Family show.  What a day.’”

“You left out the part where you made Noah Puckerman cry,” Sam retorted with his best attempt at faux-casualty.

“Perhaps that’s something I don’t want to record,” Quinn replied, closing the notebook.

“Come on, Quinn.  What was that all about?”

She sighed and half-heartedly glared and him.  Sam could only offer a hopeful grin in return.

“You really want to know?”

“Yeah, of course,” Sam said, leaning back on one arm, making himself comfortable for the long hall.

He watched as Quinn nodded, seeming to collect herself, planning exactly what she wanted to say and what she knew she needed to say.  After a heavy pause, she began.

“As you know, things between me and Puck have always been…complicated.”  She stopped, like she waiting for a joke about her or something, but Sam had heard them all before.  This was about Quinn.

“Yeah, I know,” he said encouragingly.  She grinned, and he gave her a warm smile, and added, “But this is different, isn’t it?”

She nodded.

“You know Puck was the one to teach me to play, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, sometimes, after lessons or whatever they were, I would just…stay with him.  I would stay over.”

Now Sam was confused. “Like…sleep with him?”

Quinn shook her head.  “No, but I would sleep in his bed with him.  Sometimes when I really couldn’t deal with going home.  Sometimes when I didn’t want to be alone.”

“And he thinks you are going to start doing that with me instead?” Sam asked.

“Yes.  And he doesn’t like it because…,” Quinn trailed off, dragging her fingers through her hair to compose herself.  “In his own way, Puck has always tried to love me.  He always wanted us to be…more than we were.”

“But you don’t feel that way for him.”

“No,” whispered with a sigh.

“But he’s still important to you, which is like totally understandable.  And also, I know you don’t feel like that way about me.”

Quinn met his eyes. “You do?”

“Yeah.  I know you are in love with someone else, and so does Puck.  It just hurts, I guess, for him to be reminded sometimes.”  Sam paused, then added, “Finn might not know though.  That’s kind of awkward.”

Quinn looked down at her composition book, embarrassed and not sure of what to say.

“Look,” Sam continued, “That whole situation is kind of really messed up.  But this band we have, these songs you write…they make us special. And there’s no way me or Puck or Finn are going to let it go now.”

She looked up, unsure. “You really think so?”

“One hundred percent,” Sam assured with a smile.

Quinn smiled back and moved to slip her composition book under her mattress.

“Wait, is that actually your diary?”

“What? No,” Quinn answered, pulling it back out, “It’s my lyric book.”

Sam moved to get a closer look.  “Seriously?  May I see it?”

“You really want to see what I’ve written?” Confusion and hesitance colored her voice.

“Of course I do.  I want to see where the magic happens!”

Quinn studied his face, as if she was trying to determine if he was being true.  Apparently, he passed because a moment later, Quinn scooted closer to him, opening the book, and holding so Sam could clearly see the words _I’d take it back to have the chance to see her laugh, to see her dance_ in Quinn’s hurried-yet-perfect cursive. A reminder that Quinn was always dealing with more than he could ever understand.

“One more thing,” Sam said quietly.

“Yeah, Sam?”

“If you ever do…need to…not be alone at night.  I’m okay with it.”  Quinn nodded, but said nothing.  “It’s just that you have to explain it to your mom if she walks in on us,” he added.

Quinn laughed—despite Sam being completely serious—and said, “Deal.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, I know it's been basically forever, but I'm still trying to get this story out. Also, you can actually download the Friends Who Can Relate EP (with a fun album cover) from lost-i-am.tumblr.com/store. It's FREE though--let me repeat: FREE--because the LIA tumblr is like an RP thing, but I dunno what I'm doing when it comes to RPing so whatever.


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